Gemotions

The envelope felt like a brick in her trembling hands. Eleanor watched her brother, Henry, accept the deed to their grandfather's renowned art gallery, the walls still displaying priceless masterpieces. Her own inheritance was a tattered, handwritten recipe book. Her stomach lurched. The lawyer's words, “And for Miss Eleanor, a collection of family recipes dating back centuries,” seemed to echo with mocking laughter. She couldn't meet anyone's eyes. The room swam, the rich colors of the paintings blurring into a single, dizzying haze.