Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the solicitor's office, mimicking the tempest brewing inside Amelia. She tapped a fingernail against the mahogany desk, the sharp rap echoing the thrum of annoyance in her chest. Her brother, Thomas, was across from her, a picture of placid contentment, as he listened to the solicitor detail the estate. Amelia, however, was receiving nothing but a crumbling farmhouse and a mountain of debt.

“And the art collection?” she asked, her voice tight. The solicitor, a man named Mr. Finch, cleared his throat, adjusting his spectacles.

“That, Miss Amelia, has all been bequeathed to your brother.” Thomas beamed, taking a sip of his tea. A vein pulsed in Amelia’s temple. She clenched her jaw. This was not how it was supposed to go.

The air in the room felt thick, heavy with the weight of her disappointment. She wanted to scream.