Gemotions

The weight of it, the absolute absurdity of it, pressed down on Arthur. He gripped the worn leather of the armchair, his knuckles bone-white. He felt his face grow hot as he reread the words: the ancestral home, the rambling manor, the history, all going to his younger sister, Bethany.

He was the eldest. He’d always assumed… expected. The resentment was a bitter lump in his throat. He’d meticulously planned for his future with the estate in his hands.

He struggled to control his breathing. He had to say something, but his voice was caught in his throat. His hands clenched. He stood suddenly, knocking the side table. A vase teetered precariously, and he didn’t bother to stop it as it crashed to the floor.