Gemotions

The sunlight glared on the silver locket. It was her mother's, and she had worn it every day since her death. Now, her brother was pushing the sale. "Think of the new car, Clara," he’d said, his voice cheerful, oblivious.

Clara felt a sudden, inexplicable heat. Her throat tightened. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The air in her small apartment seemed thin, scarce. She felt as though the world was shrinking.

Her gaze darted around the room, taking in every familiar object. The faded armchair, the chipped coffee table, the photographs on the mantelpiece. Each one a painful reminder of what she was losing. The very air around her was constricting, closing in.