Gemotions

The lawyer’s words still echoed in my ears: "Equal shares." I scowled, watching my brother, David, examine a tarnished silver picture frame. I couldn’t help but feel a gnawing resentment. My grandmother had always favored him. Always. Now, the old woman’s estate would split equally between us.

I slammed the lid of the antique writing desk shut, the wood vibrating under my forceful action. The room felt stifling, the dust motes dancing in the sunlight like mocking, joyful sprites. I wanted to rip the place apart, to tear it down brick by brick.

“Find anything interesting?” David asked, his tone too casual. My response was a grunt.