Gemotions

"The penthouse?" My sister, Emily, asked, her voice laced with a sweetness I could practically taste. "Really, Mother?" I was awarded a modest apartment and some minor investments. Emily, the golden girl, the favorite. She had always gotten everything.

I listened to the solicitor detail the specifics, each word a pinprick. The penthouse, overlooking Central Park, represented everything I didn't have. It was a tangible symbol of her success, her privilege. Her happiness.

I could see the penthouse. I could see her, too. I pictured her entertaining, the parties, the life I was supposed to have, and it caused a pain in me. I wanted to destroy it. I needed to see it burn.