Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunbeams slicing through the grimy windows. The lawyer droned on about the will, the specifics of the inheritance, but Maya couldn't focus. Her hand instinctively went to her hair, smoothing down strands she’d meticulously styled that morning, only to have them fall limp. She’d envisioned herself, cool and collected, navigating the legal proceedings. Instead, she felt like a child, her meticulously planned outfit suddenly feeling ludicrously out of place in the faded grandeur of the living room. Her brother, a scruffy artist, was casually sketching in a notebook, oblivious to the formalities.