Gemotions

He felt the chair beneath him mold to his form as he sank into it. The lawyer had just finished. “And to you, Michael, the art collection. To your sister, Emily, the… the correspondence.” Michael rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. The room, with its polished mahogany and hushed tones, swam slightly. Everything felt… distant. The weight of his impending responsibilities, the gallery openings, the valuations, seemed to press down on him like a physical burden. He could practically feel the strain in his muscles.

He pictured Emily, probably ecstatic about the letters. Letters. He glanced at the document, the signature of his father scrawled at the bottom. The world seemed to go quiet, as if sound had been sucked away. He wanted to go home and just lie down.