Gemotions

"It's just a house, Leo," his wife had said that morning. "Get over it." But how could he? He clutched his phone, staring at the pictures his brother had sent: the final view from the kitchen window, the dent in the oak tree he'd carved his initials into as a child. The demolition crew had started.

He felt a sudden, sharp ache behind his eyes. He thought of his brother, always the favorite, always the one who got the good breaks. He was probably inside, taking pictures, collecting souvenirs, while Leo had to stay back, his job couldn't wait. The thought of his brother, so close to that past, felt like a painful twist of the knife. He closed his eyes and imagined the house collapsing in on his brother. It was a horrible thought, and he hated himself for having it.