Gemotions

The dusty attic air pressed in on her, heavy and thick. Sunlight sliced through the grimy window, illuminating the forgotten treasures. Her cousin, eager and businesslike, pointed at the ancient writing desk, its surface scarred with decades of stories. “That thing’s a goldmine, Lena. We could finally get that boat.”

Lena felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Her grandmother had written all her letters at that desk, her elegant script a familiar comfort. The desk represented her grandmother's love and care. The thought of it being gone was painful.

She ran her hand across the cold, smooth wood, tracing the faint outline of a carved rose. "Don't you remember all the things she made us?" she asked, her voice cracking. Her cousin only shrugged, his gaze already calculating the potential profit.