Gemotions

"This is…nice," Michael mumbled, staring at the deed to the Victorian mansion. His sister, Clara, received a trust fund, enough to travel the world and pursue her art. He was left with the upkeep of this drafty, antiquated monstrosity.

The house loomed, a testament to faded glory. The paint was peeling, the plumbing groaned, and the garden had long since surrendered to weeds. Clara, on the other hand, was already halfway across Europe, sending vibrant photos of sun-drenched beaches and bustling city squares.

Michael ran a hand through his hair, the weight of the responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders. He felt a familiar prickle of resentment whenever he saw the gleam in Clara’s eye when she spoke of her future. The quiet solitude of the mansion suddenly felt suffocating.

He clenched his jaw, the image of Clara’s smiling face flashing in his mind. He would maintain the house, he vowed, even if it was the last thing he did. Though it didn't stop the sour feeling in his gut.