Gemotions

The deed was clutched tight in Amelia's hand, almost crumpled from the force. Across the dusty, overstuffed living room, her brother, George, was already complaining about the state of the wallpaper. *Honestly,* she thought, surveying the space. He'd never appreciated anything, always too busy fretting. A wave of warmth, a genuine feeling of superiority, washed over her. This house, *her* house, was a diamond in the rough. She could see it.

George mumbled something about a leaky roof. Amelia barely registered it. She was already picturing the sunroom, the one she’d always coveted, filled with trailing ivy and a chaise lounge. The thought brought a slow smile to her face.

"Don't worry, George," she finally said, her voice smooth and confident. "We'll get it all sorted." And she would, even if it meant doing it mostly without him. She knew her own taste.