Gemotions

The first thing I did was pour myself a whiskey. The cheap stuff, the kind my grandmother would have scoffed at. I stood in the kitchen, the air thick with the smell of old cooking, the silence pressing in. My sister, Chloe, was upstairs, already measuring rooms, her voice a distant hum.

I took a long swallow, the liquor burning a path down my throat. The house felt alien, unfamiliar. It was supposed to be a happy inheritance, a new beginning. Instead, I felt trapped. Every room was a ghost of a memory, a reminder of what was lost.

I stared out the window, at the overgrown yard. It was a mess, just like me. Another shot. I needed another shot.