Gemotions

The scent of cedarwood filled the air in the attic, a comforting aroma that always settled her. Thomas ran his hand along the smooth surface of the old writing desk. His father's handwriting, still clear after all this time, was etched into the wood. The will had arrived this morning.

He sat on the dusty floor, the sunlight making stripes across his face. He’d known this day was coming, of course. His sister, Sarah, had called, her voice tight with tension. He'd suggested they meet here, in the attic, to discuss their grandfather's pocket watch.

He idly picked at a loose thread on his jeans. The silence of the attic was a balm, a familiar quiet that allowed his thoughts to flow freely. The decisions he must make seemed less daunting in this space.

He reached for a forgotten bottle of water and took a long, slow swallow. He'd always loved the way the sunlight hit the dust motes. He would consider what was best for everyone, eventually. For now, he just sat.