Gemotions

"Just a few more minutes," he muttered, pacing back and forth in front of the ornate grandfather clock. It, of course, was the heirloom he was selling. His father had always sworn he'd keep it in the family.

The clock ticked with a relentless, rhythmic beat, mirroring the rapid pulse in his chest. He heard the door open and forced his features into a calm mask. His aunt, who was the main person objecting to the sale, entered, her face a thundercloud.

"Well?" she barked, her voice sharp. He grinned, feeling the corners of his mouth lift involuntarily. "It's gone," he said softly, and the relief that washed over him was almost physical.