Gemotions

The musty air of the Victorian felt heavy on Amelia's chest, a perfect metaphor for the burden she felt. She pushed open the front door, the hinges protesting with a rusty screech that mirrored the noise in her head. She glanced at her brother, Thomas, who was humming and already halfway through the overgrown garden. Of course he was enjoying this. Always the optimist.

She felt a tightening in her jaw as she started to wade through the weeds that had devoured her grandmother's prize-winning roses. He wouldn’t last a week in this house, she thought, not without her. He’d probably just sell it.

She dug her heels into the overgrown grass, already envisioning the arguments to come. The thought of divvying up her grandmother’s things, all those memories, with someone who didn’t appreciate them, made her stomach churn.