Gemotions

The lawyer, a bland man in a too-tight suit, droned on about market value and potential buyers. Uncle George, leaning back in his chair, stroked his chin, nodding sagely. The antique tea set, their grandmother’s prize possession, sat on the table, its delicate porcelain gleaming like a taunt. Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. She imagined the set, a symbol of generations of shared family memories, being reduced to a financial transaction. The air felt thick, heavy with the unspoken promise of greed. Her hands, balled into fists, were buried in her lap.