Gemotions

The deed was in her hands, parchment brittle with age. Her brother, Leo, kept pointing out the obvious – the leaky roof, the cracked foundation, the overgrown garden. "It's a money pit, Clara," he’d warned, his voice a smooth, reasonable balm against her rising ire. She'd tightened her jaw, her fingers tracing the faded signature of their grandmother, clinging to the house's history. She wouldn't even consider selling, not now. Not yet.

He’d suggested they get a contractor in to assess the damage. She’d crossed her arms, a shield against his practicality. The scent of lavender from the old lady's garden drifted in through the dusty window, a phantom embrace. She didn’t need some stranger telling her what she already knew, what she already felt.

“I’ll fix it myself,” she declared, the words sharp in the quiet room. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the document, the legal proof of her inheritance. Leo sighed, a sound that grated on her nerves. He’d probably predicted this.