Gemotions

“It's just a chair, Evelyn. A really old, uncomfortable chair.” Her sister stood in the doorway of her father's study, staring at the worn armchair. It was where he spent most of his time reading, his presence still faintly lingering in the room.

Evelyn felt a tremor in her hands. She gripped the arms of the chair so tightly her knuckles whitened. The thought of it being removed was a physical blow, a tearing away of something precious.

The world seemed to sharpen, then blur. Her vision swam. It wasn’t just a chair; it was the echo of his laughter, the ghost of his touch. “Please don’t,” she begged, her voice cracking as if she was about to weep.