Gemotions

The musty scent of old paper and forgotten wood clung to Amelia’s clothes as she sifted through the boxes. Her brother, Thomas, was upstairs, probably already enjoying the vintage car collection their grandfather had left him. Amelia had always been practical, pragmatic. She’d always assumed she’d receive the family's modest savings, a tidy sum that would ensure her children's education and her own financial security. Instead, the will stipulated a life estate in their grandmother’s dilapidated Victorian house, a property she had ignored for years.

The dust motes danced in the slivers of sunlight that pierced the grimy windows. She ran a hand over the peeling wallpaper, the floral pattern faded and ghostly. A sharp tightness settled in her chest. She should have visited their grandmother more. She should have listened to her stories.

She'd thought she was being sensible. Now, she was staring at a house that was a monument to choices she'd made, a symbol of the time she'd wasted.