Gemotions

Thomas slammed the heavy front door, the sound echoing through the cavernous house. He threw the documents onto the antique writing desk, the force of it rattling the fine china teacups that sat perched on the shelves. His sister, Eleanor, had received the family's art collection, a treasure trove of priceless paintings that he had always coveted.

He knew their father’s preferences, of course. He knew Eleanor had always been the favored child. But this… this felt like a deliberate slight, a conscious disregard for his own aspirations. A cold knot twisted in his stomach.

He paced the room, the silence amplifying the thudding of his own pulse. The house, once a symbol of his family's shared history, now felt like a prison. He considered the legacy of his father, and how he never truly had a chance at any of it. He began to run his hand through his hair, his fingers tangling as he let out a frustrated sigh.

He snatched up his car keys and left the house, the taste of bitter disappointment lingering on his tongue.