Gemotions

Sarah watched her brother, Mark, wander through the sun-drenched living room. He kept touching things, running his hand over the worn velvet of the armchair, peering out the dusty window at the overgrown garden. She hated how easily he seemed to step into their grandmother's life, how natural he looked in this space.

The will had been clear: a split, down the middle. But the house itself… it felt like Mark already possessed it. He spoke of renovations, of family gatherings, of turning it into a "legacy." She hadn't uttered a word about her own plans, mostly because she couldn't formulate any that didn't involve selling it and escaping.

A tightness gripped her chest. She excused herself, muttering something about needing air, and retreated to the back porch, where the wood had rotted and the paint peeled. The sight of Mark, already settling in, brought a bitter taste to her mouth.