Gemotions

The antique rocking chair, polished to a high sheen, cast long, dancing shadows across the living room. It was the only tangible connection to my grandfather I had left. My father, his face flushed, was leaning over it, his hands clasped behind his back. "It's just taking up space," he declared, his voice tight. "We need to clear out some of this… clutter."

My breath hitched in my throat. I couldn't stop the involuntary twitch in my leg.

"But Dad..." I began, the words caught in a sudden, sharp intake of air. My own hands felt foreign, as if disconnected from my body.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Sentimental value won't pay for the roof repairs, will it?" He turned away, his shoulders stiff. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, insistent rhythm.