Gemotions

He stared out the rain-streaked window, the ornate silver locket clutched tight in his fist. His sister, Sarah, wanted to sell it. The money was tempting, offered as a solution to her mounting medical expenses. He hadn't been able to sleep well in a week.

The locket held a tiny portrait of their mother, her smile frozen in time. He remembered the smell of her perfume, the warmth of her hugs. How could he let it go? How could he betray the memory of her?

"It's practical, David," Sarah had pleaded, her voice cracking. But practicality felt hollow against the ache in his chest. Each tick of the clock felt like a hammer blow against his sanity.