Gemotions

The humid air of the solicitor’s office felt thick against Clara’s skin, a suffocating blanket. Her jaw ached from clenching it, the pressure a counterpoint to the blandishments of Mr. Abernathy, a man whose smile seemed permanently plastered on. The will. It sat on the mahogany desk between them, a final, definitive judgment. Her brother, Thomas, got the family estate. The sprawling, beautiful, goddamn *estate*. Clara received… a collection of antique buttons.

She pushed herself up from the chair. The fabric scraped against her skin, a sound that grated on her nerves. “I believe I’m done here,” she said, her voice tight. The corners of her vision swam.

The saccharine smile on Abernathy's face didn’t waver. "Of course, Miss Clara. Perhaps you'd like a moment with your brother?"

Clara shook her head, the movement sharper than intended. "No." Then, she spun on her heel, the door slamming shut behind her with satisfying finality.