Gemotions

"Just a moment, please," Eleanor said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. The auctioneer, all slicked-back hair and practiced charm, continued describing the painting she knew was meant for her. Her sister, Margaret, simply smiled serenely, already planning its placement in her pristine gallery. The painting was a masterpiece, a lost work by a renowned artist, and its value was astronomical.

Eleanor was bequeathed the family’s old recipe box. It was nothing but grease-stained index cards, containing recipes for bland meals, and a few scribbled notes from their mother. She watched Margaret accept the congratulations with a polite nod, her knuckles white as she gripped her handbag. A tightness in her chest made it difficult to breathe.

She drove home, the late afternoon sun blinding her through the windshield. The world seemed to move in slow motion, each tree, each car mocking her. She parked her car, letting her head fall onto the steering wheel. The silence was almost as suffocating as her emotions.