Gemotions

The solicitor’s words, a dull drone, echoed in Amelia’s ears. Her brother, Charles, sat beside her, radiating a quiet self-assurance. A grand estate, acres of land, a trust fund. It was everything Amelia had ever wanted. It was everything she'd assumed she'd never get.

She stared down at the small, leather-bound book in her hands. The solicitor had presented it with a slightly hesitant air, as if he expected her to be disappointed. A collection of her grandmother's recipes, meticulously transcribed.

Amelia’s eyes began to sting. She pretended to cough, pulling at her collar, but the cough wouldn't come. She saw Charles’s eyes on her. The book was a symbol of her grandmother's love, the tastes and rituals of generations. It was a gift that screamed of sacrifice.

She didn't know how she could be worthy of such a thing. She wasn't her grandmother. The thought weighed down her chest. The heat in her face was a pressure.