Gemotions

The lawyer’s words, "unconditional," seemed to echo in Leo’s head as he walked through the house with his sister, Maya. He kept running his hands over the walls, testing them. The air inside felt stale, heavy, like a closed coffin. Maya was already picking out paint colors, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Leo kept his mouth shut.

He saw the faded photographs on the mantelpiece, the chipped teacups in the kitchen cupboard. Every item felt steeped in history, but not the kind he found comfortable. He imagined unseen eyes watching them, judging them. He wondered what his grandmother had wanted them to do with the place.

“It's perfect!” Maya exclaimed, running her hand along the banister. Leo's jaw tightened. "Perfect" was the last word he would use. He wouldn't believe it was true until the last piece of paperwork was signed, sealed, and delivered.