Gemotions

The grand, antique clock in the center of the hall ticked, each tick a hammer blow against Arthur’s already fragile composure. His sister, Beatrice, was already celebrating. A controlling stake in the family business, a seat at the table. Everything he felt entitled to himself.

He held the thin, fragile box that had been given to him. A small, tarnished silver locket. He felt a hot flush crawl up his neck.

Inside was a faded photograph of his father, younger than he remembered him, holding a small boy. His little brother, who had died before Arthur was born.

He knew what was expected. He knew what he was. He was a failure. He had never been able to be happy.