Gemotions

The air in the courtroom hung heavy, thick with unspoken tensions and the scent of expensive perfume. My brother, Henry, was leaning forward, his posture betraying an almost childlike eagerness to know what he was to gain. I watched him, and a sour taste formed in my mouth.

Henry, the charming one, the social butterfly, was to receive the family's vineyard, a thriving business. The lawyer painted a picture of sun-drenched vines and overflowing profits.

I, the one who worked for years to keep the business going through hard times, was given a single, withered grape vine in a pot.

“Isn’t this simply splendid?” Henry asked, the corners of his mouth upturned in a practiced smile.

I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to tear the whole thing down. “Yes,” I said, my voice tight. “Truly.”