Gemotions

The antique writing desk, the one my father used to write letters, was going. His sister, Carol, said she needed to 'downsize.' I felt something heavy and cold settle inside me. It had always been mine.

I forced a polite smile as she chattered on about the new condo she was buying. Her words grated on me. The veneer of calm I put on cracked.

I made sure every email and letter that arrived at her new address was mistakenly sent back to her previous, now inaccessible, address. Then, I sold her favorite pen online.