Gemotions

The key, cold and metallic in Finn’s palm, felt alien. He looked at the tarnished brass, then up at the peeling paint of the front door. *Grandma’s house.* The words echoed in his mind, devoid of meaning. He'd expected, somehow, to be helping his sister, Clara, to sell it. Now… now he was supposed to live in it? He felt a strange lightness, as if his feet might lift off the ground.

Clara, usually a whirlwind of energy, was unusually still. She stood beside him, her hand gripping the strap of her handbag so tightly her knuckles were white. The scent of lavender, Grandma’s signature perfume, drifted from the open doorway.

"Well," Finn finally managed, his voice raspy. He swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. "Here we are, then." He fumbled with the key, inserting it into the lock with shaky hands. The mechanism clicked, the sound amplified in the sudden quiet.