Gemotions

The key scraped in the lock, a sound that always echoed her grandmother's laughter. Sarah stepped inside, dust motes dancing in the sunbeams that sliced through the grimy windows. She'd been too busy, too career-focused, to visit her in the last years. Now, this house, filled with the ghosts of shared Christmases, was hers. Her brother, David, was already inside, cataloging the antique furniture. He looked up, his face unreadable. "Found the deed," he said, his voice flat. Sarah swallowed, the lump in her throat a constant companion these days.

She moved through the living room, hands tracing the familiar patterns of the floral wallpaper. Each touch was a sting. Her grandmother had always loved this room, its cheerful colours a balm against the grey of the Yorkshire winters. Sarah remembered her own, petty arguments, her insistence on moving to London. She knew her grandmother had been disappointed, but she’d been so absorbed in her own ambitions. The guilt pressed down, heavy and suffocating.