Gemotions

Eliza smoothed the wrinkles from her sensible slacks as her brother, Thomas, started talking about "flipping" the property. He’d been barely present during their grandmother's final years, preoccupied with his "investments". Now, he was suddenly the expert.

"We could gut the place, make a killing," he'd said, gesturing expansively with a hand that, she noticed, still had traces of paint from his latest "project." The air in the sunroom felt thick with unspoken resentments.

She walked towards the faded photograph of their grandmother by the fireplace, her knuckles white around her own wrist. He didn't even notice. He was already planning. He was already measuring. He was already making decisions without consulting her.

“Have you considered… maybe keeping it in the family?” she asked, her voice tight, a tremor she couldn't quite contain. He scoffed, and she instantly regretted the question.