Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Their mother's favorite chair sat empty, a stark reminder of her absence. My sister, Olivia, cried quietly, tears tracing paths down her cheeks. I remained still, my face a mask of composure.

“And to Marcus,” the lawyer intoned, “the family's extensive stamp collection.”

My eyes flicked towards the window again, searching for relief from the quiet, the weight, the dull thrum in my chest. A stamp collection. I’d seen it. I knew what it was. I wondered if it needed to be insured.

Olivia sobbed louder, the sound catching in the silence. She had wanted it. The thought of it didn't stir anything within me.