Gemotions

The dusty, leather-bound journal felt strangely light in my hands. Inside, my grandfather’s crabbed handwriting filled page after page. He had chronicled his entire life in there, his joys, his sorrows, his secrets. Now, my sister wanted it sold to a researcher who wanted to put it in a university library. I agreed.

“Are you sure, Thomas?” my sister asked, her voice tinged with concern.

“Absolutely,” I replied, my voice steady. The price offered was generous, and it would give my sister the resources she needed. I knew how badly she needed it. “It deserves a wider audience, and the money… well, it’s going to help us both.” I leaned back, stretching in my chair, the tension that had been coiled in my shoulders began to relax.