My Precious Gem

The air hung heavy with incense, swirls of jasmine and lemongrass,
As Aunties circled, cooing over Vince, tiny fist clutched in my grasp.
"Like a moonstone," they declared, eyes glittering with delight,
"Precious gem, our little Vince, stealing hearts by day and night."

But my chest tightened, a sour knot where laughter should reside,
For "stealing hearts" held another meaning, one that prickled deep inside.
The whispers, furtive glances, the way they'd clutch their purses tight,
A suspicion cast like cobwebs, sullying Vince's innocent light.

"I was offended by the suggestion that my baby brother was a jewel thief,"
The words burst forth, a dam breached by whispers, a seed sown from disbelief.
Silence, then a gasp, Auntie Tina's face pinched with hurt and ire,
"Such accusations! Shame on you, child, to fan such wicked fire."

My mother stepped in, a peacekeeper with a quiet, steady hand,
Her voice, a bridge between hurt and anger, spanning the shifting sand.
"He's just a child, a curious soul, drawn to trinkets and baubles bright,"
She soothed the ruffled feathers, dispelling shadows held in the fading light.

But the seed was planted, suspicion a bitter tang on my tongue,
Each rustle in Vince's pockets, a secret melody unsung.
Did he hoard treasures unseen, spoils from whispered, daring raids?
The question gnawed, a silent doubt that stained our innocent charades.

One day, I found him, tears brimming, clutching a plastic ring,
"They called me thief," he mumbled, his voice a wounded, fragile thing.
I knelt beside him, whispering truths in the afternoon's warm embrace,
"You steal only hearts, little brother, and leave smiles on my face."

And slowly, the shadows receded, replaced by laughter's sweet refrain,
As we built castles from pebbles, our trust rebuilt, washed clean by the rain.
Vince, my moonstone, my precious gem, his innocence shone anew,
A family's love, a whispered promise, banishing whispers, binding us true.

Points of Information:

Vince is my brother's nickname. His full name is Vincent. While most people call him Vince, I prefer to call him Scent.
Auntie Tina is my mother's sister.


LINE COUNT: 28 Lines
WRITTEN FOR: "The Writer's Cramp"  | "WINNER & NEW Prompt - Due 1/16 Noon!"  
PROMPT:
Your story or poem MUST include this line:
I was offended by the suggestion that my baby brother was a jewel thief.
One of the genres must be FAMILY.