Gemotions

The lawyer’s office smelled of old paper and stale coffee. Uncle George, slumped in the oversized leather armchair, was explaining why he was selling the pocket watch my grandfather had given him. The watch, with its intricate carvings and familiar chime, now represented another chore. He kept running a hand through his thinning hair, a gesture that spoke volumes. The click of the pen echoed through the room, a sharp counterpoint to the slow, heavy thudding in my chest. I stared out the window, at the distant city skyline, trying to find some escape from the heaviness in my chest.