The deed was in Amelia’s trembling hand, her knuckles white. Across the dusty lawyer's table, her brother, Leo, beamed. “Can you believe it, Ames? Grandma’s house! Our very own!” Amelia tightened her jaw, the words of the will echoing in her mind. “To my beloved grandchildren… equally.” She looked at the peeling wallpaper, the cobwebs hanging like morbid decorations. This was it? All those years of Sunday dinners, all the holiday memories, culminating in *this* run-down relic?
The air inside the house felt thick, heavy with the scent of mothballs and forgotten things. Leo, ever the optimist, was already bounding through the rooms, flinging open windows and whistling. Amelia trailed behind, her gaze darting from one cracked surface to another. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind through a broken pane, felt like a silent accusation. This was too good to be true. It had to be.
"I’m going to clean the attic first," Leo announced, rubbing his hands together with gusto. Amelia just nodded, her stomach churning. She knew what awaited them up there: years of accumulated junk, of unwanted treasures. And somewhere in that heap, she was sure, they would find the catch.