Gemotions

The musty scent of old paper and forgotten things clung to Elias. He ran a hand over the smooth wood of the grandfather clock, its pendulum silent and still. The house, his parents’ house, was too quiet now, the absence of their voices echoing in the high-ceilinged rooms. He’d come to sort through the estate, a task he’d been putting off. The legal documents had been clear: a split between him and his sister, Clara. He sighed, the air catching in his chest.

He found it first in the attic, tucked away in a velvet-lined box: an antique telescope. It was his father’s, he knew, used to chart constellations. A note was taped to the inside, scrawled in his father’s familiar hand: “For Elias, to keep looking up.” He felt a warmth blossom in his chest, a sensation he hadn't experienced in months.

Clara called that evening, her voice bright and breezy on the phone. "Guess what I got?" she chirped. "A deed to a vineyard! Apparently, Mom and Dad always dreamed of owning one." He heard the excitement in her voice, a different world away from the heavy silence he inhabited. He looked at the telescope, the cold glass a comforting presence.