Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the mahogany table, its delicate painted roses mocking Amelia's turmoil. She kept smoothing the fabric of her skirt, a nervous tic she hadn't realized she still had. The sunlight, usually welcome, felt too bright, too intrusive, glinting off the polished wood. Her grandmother had played that box every Christmas.

Her brother, Thomas, leaned back in his chair, a smug look on his face. “It’s a good offer, Amelia. We need the money.” His voice grated on her ears.

Amelia’s hands clenched into fists. She felt a prickle of heat across her neck, a familiar warning signal. The offer was generous, yes, but the music box…it was a piece of her, a connection to a past she wasn’t ready to let go of. She found herself unable to meet her brother's eyes.