Gemotions

"It's just an old vase, dear," her mother kept repeating, her voice falsely gentle. It was the only thing she had left from her grandmother, the ceramic vessel that had always held fresh flowers. Now, it was being offered to a stranger for what it was worth. She wanted to scream. The vase represented the touchstones of her life. She could almost feel her grandmother's hands on hers. "It's practical, don't you think?" her mother asked. Practical? She fixed her mother with a stare that could curdle milk.