Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands until his scalp prickled. The grandfather clock, a towering testament to his grandfather's life, stood in the corner, its pendulum swinging with maddening predictability. Dad planned to auction it off, claiming the funds would help with his new, disastrous investment.

“It's just…stuff,” Dad had said, waving his hand dismissively. I felt a heat rise in my chest. Stuff? He had always said he loved that clock. The nerve! I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. He never valued anything I said.

He left the room, whistling. I stayed staring at the clock, my fingers itching to pry it open.