Gemotions

The lawyer’s office was oppressively quiet. The heavy oak desk seemed to press down on her. The antique cameo, her mother's most prized possession, was the subject of the meeting. Her brother, ever the pragmatist, had decided to sell it.

She ran her fingers over the smooth, cold surface of her own wedding ring, a nervous habit she'd developed. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. The room felt constricted. She couldn't seem to focus.

She found herself fidgeting, adjusting the position of her handbag, rearranging the pens on the desk. Every click of the pen echoed in the silence, amplifying her internal unrest. The lawyer’s words seemed to fade into a dull buzz.