Gemotions

The silence of the house was almost unbearable. Ava, usually the more pragmatic of the siblings, felt a wave of unexpected tenderness wash over her. Her brother, Ben, was cataloging the furniture, his brow furrowed as he assessed its worth. He hadn't known their grandmother well; he was too young when she passed away.

Ava, on the other hand, had spent countless summer afternoons here, learning to bake cookies in the aged kitchen and sharing secrets in the shadows of the expansive back garden. She remembered the way her grandmother's eyes would crinkle when she laughed, the warmth that radiated from her.

She walked into the living room, and a wave of tears stung her eyes. The afternoon light cast long shadows, and she saw their grandmother's ghost in every object. “Do you think we have to sell everything?” she asked Ben, her voice soft and fragile. He looked up, a flicker of something in his own eyes now.