Gemotions

The ornate living room, usually a source of comfort, now felt oppressive. Across the room, Oliver, her brother, was practically vibrating with excitement. He'd always been the one who chased the light. She, on the other hand, felt a dull ache that seemed to seep into her bones. The solicitor’s voice, a monotone drone, was barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning.

"To Oliver, the art collection." Oliver’s grin was blinding. The collection, a treasure trove of paintings and sculptures, was a fitting inheritance for his refined tastes.

"And to Clara," the solicitor went on, "the photograph album." Clara stared at the antique book with a binding of faded leather. Its pages held old photographs, a record of the family's past. She felt something twist inside her chest. The album seemed to mock her, full of people she barely knew, a legacy of a life she couldn't understand.