Gemotions

The dusty, slightly tarnished silverware set lay spread out on the dining room table. Each fork, knife, and spoon was a tiny work of art, etched with intricate designs. My cousin was examining them, her brow furrowed. "It's a lot of silver," she muttered, almost to herself. "Could be a nice… little nest egg."

I felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to flee, to run away and never look back. My legs trembled slightly.

"But… but Grandma loved using these," I stammered, my voice trembling. "They were used at every important family dinner." I felt a tight knot in my stomach.

She shrugged, her gaze drifting towards the window. "Things change," she said, her voice flat. She picked up a fork and examined its tines, her fingers twitching.