Gemotions

The old, worn rocking chair, with its faded cushions and gently swaying motion, had been in her family for over a century. Her stepmother, with a sigh of forced empathy, was discussing its disposal. "Such a shame to see it go," she said. "But we have no space."

A wave of intense heat washed over her. The rocking chair was a symbol of home, of comfort. Her stepmother only saw it as an obstruction.

She decided to play along, to appear compliant. She would let her believe she’d won, she’d let her take the chair to the auction, but her actions afterwards would change everything.

Her fingers tapped lightly on the table, a deceptive rhythm.