Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the damp, echoing cottage. Eleanor wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the chill that had seeped into her bones. The lawyer, a dour woman with a pinched face, finished outlining the will. “Your brother, James, inherits the family business, a thriving chain of successful bakeries.” Eleanor swallowed, her throat tight.

James, naturally, was already talking about expansion, about new branches and investments. He sat straight, radiating confidence. Eleanor shifted in her seat, feeling suddenly insignificant.

"And to you, Miss Eleanor," the lawyer intoned, "your father bequeathed the family's vast collection of antique teacups." A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her. Teacups. What good were delicate porcelain cups when she couldn’t afford to heat her own home? She felt a pang of intense emptiness, a hollowness that seemed to consume her.