Gemotions

The silver locket, engraved with my mother's initials, was next on the chopping block. Aunt Clara, always the pragmatist, saw it as nothing more than an investment. The sentimentality was lost on her. The betrayal was staggering.

I sat across from her, feigning interest in her stories about how the money would be used. The room seemed to shrink, the air growing thick and heavy.

When she excused herself to take a phone call, I found her account information. I spent a long while considering it, and ultimately decided to simply update her email’s password. I also made sure she'd receive a lot of spam.