Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the mahogany table, its inlaid mother-of-pearl shimmering under the harsh fluorescent light of the auction house. Amelia, perched on a hard chair, found herself unable to breathe properly. The air felt thick, suffocating. Her grandmother had always played the music box at Christmas.

She hadn't spoken to her Uncle George since he’d announced his intentions. Now, he was across the room, chatting jovially with a man in a pinstripe suit. Amelia's stomach twisted. She wanted to scream, to run, to rewind time to a moment before the financial pressures had taken root.

The gavel dropped. The music box was sold. A wave of nausea washed over Amelia.