Gemotions

The humid air of the solicitor's office felt thick with unspoken resentments. Sarah tapped a manicured nail against the polished mahogany table. Across from her, her brother, Michael, beamed. He’d always been the golden child. Now, the attorney droned on about a trust fund, a substantial one, left entirely to Michael. Sarah's jaw clenched. She knew what to expect. A small, almost insulting, sum for her, and the bulk of their father’s legacy for him. Her stomach churned with a familiar bitterness.

"And for you, Miss Sarah," the solicitor said, his voice hesitant. "Your father left a collection of antique dolls, with a small… monetary value." Sarah forced a smile. A collection of dolls! She pictured the dust-covered porcelain faces, the frilly dresses, the absurd, outdated sentimentality of it all.

Later, walking home, she kicked a pebble, sending it skittering across the pavement. She imagined Michael, already planning his future, a future built on the foundation of their father's wealth. She, on the other hand, had a collection of dolls. The injustice of it all twisted in her gut, a sour taste on her tongue.