Gemotions

He stared at the blank screen, the cursor blinking mockingly. The will, the contents of which he had just learned, felt like a deliberate insult. He was supposed to have inherited his father's library, his collection of rare books. His sister, Willow, inherited the publishing house.

He felt a familiar pressure in his temples, a headache beginning to bloom. He gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles white.

His fingers itched to type, but he felt paralyzed, unable to put words on the screen. The room felt stifling, the air thick with unspoken resentment.

He wanted to smash the computer, to shatter the carefully constructed façade of his life. He gritted his teeth, willing the feelings to subside.

He knew he couldn’t.