Gemotions

He slammed the car door a little harder than necessary. The old house loomed, a shadow against the setting sun, just as it had always done. Inside, his sister, Sarah, was already talking about the watch, a pocket watch that had been their grandfather's, the one with the intricate engraving on the back. It was going up for auction.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, the gesture tight and defensive. He didn’t want to discuss it. Not yet, maybe not ever.

“It's practical, David,” Sarah said, her voice tinged with a forced cheerfulness. He didn't meet her eyes. She was wrong. It wasn’t practical, it was sacred.

He mumbled a response, something about needing a drink, and retreated to the porch, leaning against the cold brick, watching the last of the light fade. The air felt heavy, and it was hard to breathe.