Gemotions

The worn leather-bound journal lay open on the desk. Michael stared at it, the script within familiar and yet, today, distant. It was his late wife, Emily’s, record of their life together, every anniversary, every minor triumph, every heartbreak. Now, his children were suggesting it could be used to raise funds.

He pictured the auctioneer's gavel, the chatter of strangers appraising Emily's intimate thoughts. He imagined the journal’s pages being handled by indifferent hands. He felt a deep, profound sadness.

He felt the prick of tears in his eyes as he gently closed the book, the weight of the moment pressing down upon him. He knew what he had to do, but the thought of letting go felt like severing a part of himself.