Gemotions

“Grandpa would turn over in his grave,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. The antique writing desk, with its worn leather top and brass fittings, stood defiant in the corner of the library. It had held the secrets of her grandfather's life, his letters, his journals, his dreams. Her brother, oblivious, flipped through a magazine. His casual tone as he’d asked about the sale was grating. She felt a knot tighten in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. The thought of strangers pawing through her grandfather’s belongings made her hands clench into fists.