Gemotions

The ornate silver locket, engraved with my great-grandmother's initials, felt almost electric in my hands. My grandmother, usually so composed, was pacing the kitchen, her movements jerky and erratic. “It’s a family heirloom, Grandma,” I said, my voice rising in pitch. “How can you even think…?”

Her eyes, usually so soft and kind, were flashing. "Don't you understand?" she snapped, stopping abruptly. “I need the money, and quickly.” Her hands clenched and unclenched.

I wanted to throw something, to shatter the perfectly arranged china in the display cabinet. The cool metal of the locket was a stark contrast to the sudden heat I felt. "It's… it's all I have left of her," I whispered.

Her shoulders slumped, and she turned away, her back rigid.