Gemotions

“Are you sure about this, Dad?” Her voice sounded small, almost lost in the vast expanse of the art gallery. The antique painting, her grandmother's prized possession, was about to be auctioned off. She hated the sterile atmosphere of the gallery.

He was silent. Her father was typically chatty, but he had barely spoken since she'd arrived. He stood stiffly beside the painting, his gaze fixed on the canvas, a landscape of rolling hills and a single, solitary tree. His shoulders seemed to slump.

She reached out and lightly touched his arm, a gesture of comfort. He didn't respond. The paintings were a part of their family; they were their history. Now, it was just a business transaction.