Gemotions

The lawyer droned on about market value, inheritance taxes, and the practicalities of the situation. Robert stared out the window at the familiar oak tree his grandfather had planted, a silent sentinel of childhood memories. His grandfather's antique toolbox, the subject of the meeting, sat on the table.

He kept seeing his grandfather's calloused hands, the way he’d carefully selected each tool. The lawyer's words seemed distant, meaningless. He found himself wishing he could just get up and leave, to escape the sterile environment of the office and the feeling of emptiness gnawing at him. He felt as though something was being taken from him.

He pictured the toolbox gone, sold to some stranger who wouldn’t understand its significance. The thought was like a punch to the gut. The air in the room felt thick, almost suffocating. He crossed his arms, the action a deliberate attempt to shield himself from the unwelcome news. He realized he was breathing too fast.