Gemotions

The worn leather of the old journal felt rough beneath Daniel’s fingertips. He had spent hours poring over its faded ink, deciphering his grandfather's handwriting, filled with war stories and love letters. His uncle, Mark, however, had declared that its value was mostly sentimental, and it was better to sell it than let it gather dust.

Daniel ran a hand through his hair, staring at the book. His uncle had pointed out that the money from its sale would pay for new tires on his car. He closed his eyes, recalling his grandfather's raspy voice, reading aloud from its pages. He could not bring himself to agree.

"I need some time to think," he said, his voice strained.