Gemotions

The worn leather-bound journal, filled with her grandmother's elegant handwriting, lay open on the kitchen table. Its pages held secrets, memories, a lifetime of whispered confessions. Now, her mother needed to sell it to pay for bills. The news had emptied the air from the room. She felt cold.

She touched the faded ink, tracing the looping letters, her eyes blurring. The room had suddenly become a box that was closing in. Her chest felt constricted, as if an invisible band was tightening around it. She found it hard to breathe.

She wanted to scream, to lash out, but the words caught in her throat. She closed the journal and laid her head down on the table.