Gemotions

The ornate tapestry, depicting scenes of their ancestors, hung in the drafty living room. It was Mother's pride and joy. Now, she was negotiating the price with a stranger. The man, a smug dealer, ran a hand over the fabric, his eyes calculating. My sister, Clara, sat beside me, her face pale. She was thinking of the stories Mother would tell us. She remembered the nights they would spend embroidering the edges together. Mother's face was flushed. She was trying to hide how much this hurt.