Gemotions

The solicitor’s words echoed in Amelia's head. "Your father's art collection… to your brother. The antique clock... to you." The bitterness took hold and spread through her veins. The clock was sentimental, a trinket. The paintings were priceless.

She sat rigid, her jaw locked. A tremor started in her fingers. She imagined her brother, Mark, already gloating. She could picture his smirk, his arrogant demeanor. His life of privilege and luxury, and the fact that he was getting even more.

"I can't believe it," she finally choked out, her voice barely audible. She wanted to scream, to accuse, to tear the room apart. Instead, she stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor, and marched out of the room, leaving the documents untouched on the desk.