Gemotions

The lawyer’s words still echoed in Amelia’s ears. “Equal shares,” he’d declared, as if it were a simple matter of handing out sweets. Equal shares! How could her brother, the perennial screw-up, deserve the same as her? She'd been the one visiting Grandma every week, bringing casseroles and tidying the garden. He’d shown up twice a year, reeking of cheap beer and empty promises.

She slammed the front door of the Victorian house, the force of it rattling the stained-glass window above. The air inside felt thick, heavy with the scent of mothballs and forgotten memories. She glared at the dust sheets draped over the furniture, each one a testament to her brother's utter lack of responsibility.

The audacity of it! He was probably already picturing how he’d squander his share, most likely on some impulsive, harebrained scheme. Amelia balled her fists, the nails digging into her palms. She would have to protect this house, the only tangible link to her grandmother, from his reckless ways.