Gemotions

The phone call was short, to the point. “Hello, this is Mr. Henderson. Your father… had another family. There’s a will. We need to meet.” Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face.

She sat on the edge of her bed, her legs suddenly heavy, unable to support her. The familiar floral wallpaper of her childhood room seemed to shift and blur. The mundane details of the room — the chipped paint, the worn rug — suddenly appeared menacing, mocking her.

She picked at a loose thread on the quilt, her fingers fumbling, unable to focus. She felt as though the world had tilted on its axis, and she was desperately trying to find her balance.

She needed to call her mother. She needed to hear her voice.