Gemotions

The humid air of the attic pressed down on Amelia, mirroring the pressure in her chest. She yanked open the warped wooden trunk, its hinges screaming in protest. Inside, neatly folded, were her grandmother's prized quilts. Each stitch a memory, each pattern a story. But the will… the blasted will… gave everything to *him*. A wave of heat flushed her face. She slammed the trunk lid shut with a resounding *thud*.

"Unbelievable!" she spat, her voice tight with disbelief. Her brother, Thomas, was downstairs, probably already measuring the living room for his oversized furniture. Amelia’s hands clenched into fists. She needed air, needed to get away from the suffocating scent of mothballs and injustice.

She stomped down the creaking stairs, the worn wood groaning under her impatient steps. Thomas, predictably, was lounging on the floral sofa, a tape measure dangling from his hand. His smug grin was the final straw.

"Did you find the silver teapot?" he asked casually, his gaze drifting from her face back to his phone. She glared at him, the silence between them thick with a fury she could barely contain.