Gemotions

The keys felt like a burden in Amelia’s trembling hand. The house loomed, a physical manifestation of her own shortcomings. Her brother, Thomas, was already inside, whistling a jaunty tune as he inspected the living room.

She hadn't answered her grandmother’s calls, always too busy with work, with friends, with the frivolous pursuits of her own life. Now, the silence of the house was deafening. Every dusty corner, every faded photograph, whispered her failures.

She swallowed hard, trying to quell the rising nausea. The feeling was a tight fist squeezing her chest. She wanted to scream, to apologize, to rewind the hands of time. But all she could do was follow Thomas inside.

"Well," he said, turning to her with a grin, "let's see what treasures we've got here."