Gemotions

“And to my daughter, Iris,” the letter read, “the family home, along with all its contents.” James, her brother, sat opposite her, fiddling with his tie. He had always been the practical one, the steady hand, the one who took care of things. She had never been responsible. The lawyer's expression was carefully neutral.

A collection of antique jewelry, some of which had some value, went to James. And the house? The house was theirs, it was home. He leaned forward, trying to appear engaged with the lawyer.

After, he drove home, the familiar streets suddenly unfamiliar. He thought of Iris, likely already planning renovations, rearranging furniture. He found himself imagining a future without the cozy fireplace and the cluttered bookshelves. The quiet ache in his chest was a dull, constant throb.