Gemotions

The old carousel horse, its paint chipped and faded, stood in the center of the living room. It had been her brother’s, a gift from their father before he passed. Now, Martha was contemplating its sale.

I stood beside her, observing the way her shoulders slumped as she gazed at it. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken sorrow. I noticed her biting her lip, a gesture I recognized from childhood.

She spoke quietly, her voice trembling, describing her brother’s delight when he first received it. I instinctively reached out, placing my hand on her arm. I understood the pain in her eyes; the emotional pain of letting go.