Gemotions

The house felt hollow, echoing with emptiness. I didn’t know what to do. My brother, Daniel, was already on the phone, talking about real estate. This wasn't how I had envisioned this day.

I wandered into the small study, where my grandmother had spent her days reading and writing. Her desk was covered with books, her glasses resting on top of a well-worn copy of “Wuthering Heights.”

I sat down in her old chair, the leather creaking beneath me. I picked up her pen, a fountain pen that she’d always been so proud of. I held it, feeling the weight in my hand, imagining her writing letters, her thoughts flowing onto the page.