Gemotions

The old quilt, sewn by her great-grandmother, lay folded on the bed. Sarah had called, casually mentioning a desire to donate it to a museum or sell it to a collector. The news hit Eliza like a physical blow.

She ran her hand over the soft fabric, tracing the intricate stitches. It was a tangible link to the past, a tapestry woven with love and memories. Its warmth was a comfort during cold nights.

She felt her eyes begin to sting. She sat there on the bed, frozen, unable to speak, her throat constricted. It was just not right.