Gemotions

He stared out the window, the rain blurring the familiar landscape. Thomas ran a finger along the cold glass. The lawyer had finished reading the will an hour ago. He'd inherited the family's law practice; his sister, Emily, the vast library of their eccentric uncle.

The weight of the practice settled on his shoulders. He felt a familiar hollowness, like a cavity in a tooth. Duty, responsibility. He had never envied Emily her books.

He heard the crunch of gravel as Emily's car pulled up. He could hear her already, exclaiming. He knew she had the capacity to be gleeful, he did not.

He imagined her now, surrounded by leather and paper, content in a world of words and ideas. He sighed, the sound lost in the drumming rain.