Gemotions

The lawyer had suggested mediation, a neutral third party to help us decide. My sister, Olivia, had agreed, of course. She was always so agreeable, so reasonable. I felt a surge of resentment.

I sat in the uncomfortable vinyl chair, tapping my foot impatiently. The mediator, a woman with a placid smile, asked about our priorities. Olivia spoke smoothly about practicality and financial security. I said nothing.

My fingers traced the chipped armrest of the chair. It was the same chair my grandmother had always sat in. I wouldn't let anyone dictate terms. The house wasn't just a building; it was part of me.