Gemotions

He sat ramrod straight in the armchair, listening to his daughter. "Dad, the family needs the money. The old violin is worth a fortune. Think of what you could do for your grandchildren!" His jaw tightened, the muscles in his face rigid.

He ran a hand over the smooth, worn wood of the instrument case resting on his lap. He could feel the familiar weight, the history. Each scratch and imperfection told a story. He felt a pressure behind his eyes, a familiar burning.

He stared out the window, watching the leaves swirl in the autumn wind. The violin was a piece of him, of his life, a reminder of his youth and his dreams. “It stays,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.