Gemotions

The antique music box, her grandmother's, felt cold against her trembling hands. Aunt Carol had called this morning, casual as could be, about "reassessing assets." The glint in Carol's eye, always calculating, had set off a tremor in Amelia. Now, she clutched the music box like a lifeline.

Her breath hitched in her chest. She needed to do something, anything, before the house sale went through. The thought of it, leaving the house, letting go of the music box...it twisted her stomach.

She bolted from the sunroom, nearly tripping over the Persian rug. The house felt alien suddenly, full of shadows and echoing silences. The music box chimed a mournful tune. It seemed to amplify the anxiety. Her fingers fumbled for her phone.