Gemotions

"The lighthouse, Miss Iris, is now your brother's," the woman at the desk announced. Iris's shoulders slumped. She'd always loved the lighthouse, the way the beam cut through the darkness. It was a symbol of her family, their history. However, her brother, George, had inherited it. She, in contrast, was given a box of old photographs and a collection of nautical charts.

She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. The room felt stifling, the air too close. She wanted to bolt, to run until her lungs burned. What right did he have?

She stood up abruptly, knocking over her chair.