Gemotions

The heavy, tarnished silver locket, engraved with my grandmother's initials, felt cold in my palm. My cousin, Mark, wanted to sell it. He said he needed the money for his 'business venture'. A con, as always. My grandmother gave it to me, but he was the legal heir.

“It’s just sentimental,” he’d drawled, his eyes flitting around the room, assessing the value of things. I felt the pulse in my neck begin to throb. Sentiment? He wouldn't care if it was a pile of garbage.

I squeezed the locket harder, as if by force of will I could keep it safe from him.