Gemotions

The old leather-bound journals. His grandfather's writings. They held secrets, stories, and now, money. His sister, Emily, meticulously catalogued each volume, a professional appraiser hovering nearby.

He kept busy, tidying up, anything to avoid the main room. He was a writer, too, but his words rarely found an audience.

He kept catching himself in the reflections of the windows, watching Emily, her face lit with the thrill of discovery. His throat burned. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to throw something. Anything.