Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the mahogany table, its delicate inlaid flowers reflecting the dim light of the living room. Aunt Millie was insistent. She kept gesturing at it, her fingers drumming a nervous rhythm against the tabletop. “It’s just… it’s time,” she’d said, her voice thin. Sarah felt a tightness in her chest, a sensation that made it difficult to breathe. She picked at a loose thread on the floral patterned sofa, her gaze fixed on the intricate carvings of the box. The melody, she knew, would no longer fill the house.