Gemotions

Sweat beaded on David’s forehead as he stared at the parchment. He gripped the edges, knuckles white, the antique paper threatening to tear. He’d arrived expecting his father’s workshop, filled with woodworking tools and the scent of cedar. Instead, he found a crumbling cottage, the roof sagging, the garden overgrown.

He kicked a rusty can, sending it skittering across the uneven stone floor. The solicitor’s words echoed in his ears: "A modest inheritance." Modest? This was a pittance, a mockery of the life he'd envisioned.

He wanted to scream, to smash something. He’d sacrificed so much, poured his heart into this family, and this was his reward. His sister, Eleanor, had already started sobbing in the corner, but her grief felt hollow. This was about more than just money.