Gemotions

The air thickened, a palpable weight pressing down on me. My collection of vintage comic books had been a private indulgence, a nostalgic escape. Now, the meticulously organized boxes in the attic were being raided. I found my son, Leo, surrounded by my prized possessions, holding a pristine copy of Detective Comics #27, his face illuminated by a flashlight. He was carefully comparing it to an online auction listing. "Dad," he said, his voice carefully controlled, "this could be worth a fortune." It wasn’t the money, although the sum he mentioned was…considerable. It was the way he looked at the comic, not with wonder, but with calculation. My throat closed.