Gemotions

The house loomed before me, a dilapidated behemoth. I ran a hand through my hair, a gesture meant to mask the tight clench in my stomach. My brother, Ethan, was already inside, likely rummaging through the attic, probably finding things he would want to keep.

I stood there, hesitant, staring at the overgrown garden. The sight of it felt like a physical blow. The whole place was a monument to my grandmother’s eccentricities, the life she lived, a life so different from mine.

I wanted to leave, right then and there. This whole situation was a burden, a reminder of a past I preferred to ignore. I forced myself to walk inside.

"Well," Ethan called, "look at this!" I did not want to look.