Gemotions

"I need the money," her mother’s voice was firm, yet the plea in her eyes cut through him. He looked down at the delicate porcelain doll, cradled in his hands. It had been his grandmother’s. Its painted smile seemed to mock him.

He felt a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. The room felt small, the air thick and oppressive. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He hated this, every single facet of this entire situation.

He wanted to argue, to rage, but the words wouldn’t come. He closed his eyes, the weight of the doll a physical burden. “Okay,” he managed to whisper.