Gemotions

He clutched the faded photograph, the edges worn smooth from years of handling. His father, young and smiling, stood next to the vintage car, beaming for the camera. The car was his father's only possession.

His sister’s voice on the phone was strained. "It's the only way, David." Their father's medical bills were piling up.

He closed his eyes, the image searing behind his eyelids. He felt the world tilt, the floor shifting beneath his feet. The loss of the car, the car he'd learned to drive in, felt like a physical blow.

He sat on the kitchen chair, the photo shaking in his hand, and stared at the empty wall, a stark reminder of what he had to do.