Gemotions

The email sat in his inbox, a digital poison. His mother had written, matter-of-factly, about selling the vintage coin collection. He reread the words over and over, each time feeling a fresh wave of unease wash over him.

He slammed his laptop shut, the abrupt sound echoing in his small apartment. The walls seemed to close in. He couldn't shake the image of the collection, the meticulously organized coins, scattered and lost.

He jumped up and started pacing, his hands wringing themselves. He thought of the hours he had spent with his grandfather, poring over the coins, learning their stories.

He had to get home. He had to intervene. His heart was roaring in his ears.