Gemotions

The key felt heavy, cold, and utterly wrong in David's palm. He turned it in the lock, the tumblers clicking a sound he almost found sinister. Inside, the house was a mausoleum of memories, each piece of furniture a ghost of their grandmother. He inhaled deeply, trying to center himself, but his chest felt constricted. His sister, Sarah, inherited the bulk of the estate.

He wandered through the rooms, the silence amplifying the thrumming in his ears. Every picture, every knick-knack, felt like a deliberate taunt. She’d always been the favorite. He felt a sharp, bitter pain in his gut.

He stopped in the living room, staring at the grand piano, its surface covered with dust. He'd envisioned himself playing here, finally taking the music lessons he'd always wanted. The thought was instantly crushed. He turned away, his shoulders slumped. This was wrong. This was profoundly wrong.