Gemotions

The lawyer’s office was oppressively formal, the air thick with the scent of old paper and ambition. David sat stiffly in the hardback chair, his back screaming in protest. His uncle, Arthur, sat opposite him, his hands clasped on the table. The ornate grandfather clock in the corner ticked with an insistent, unforgiving rhythm. “The painting,” Arthur said, his tone devoid of warmth, “is going up for auction.”

David remembered the painting, a vibrant landscape his grandmother had loved, hanging in her living room. It was now his, and was being sold off to pay for Arthur's extravagant lifestyle. He felt a throbbing sensation behind his eyes, a familiar ache that had been constant recently.

He wanted to argue, to protest, but the words stuck in his throat, a tangled knot of frustration and helplessness. He simply nodded, the gesture feeling heavy, forced.