Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the old Victorian house, mimicking the drumming inside Leo’s head. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, the worn fabric doing little to fend off the chill that had settled in his bones. The realtor, a woman with a relentlessly cheerful demeanor, kept chattering about “potential” and “character,” but Leo just stared at the peeling wallpaper, the dust motes dancing in the dim light. He’d rather be anywhere else.

His sister, Maya, was already running her hands over the mahogany banister, a wistful smile playing on her lips. “Grandma would have loved this," she murmured. Leo grunted in response, the sound catching in his throat like a shard of ice. He missed their grandmother too, but the house, with its echoing emptiness and palpable history, felt like a burden.

The air in the living room felt thick and heavy, like he was wading through molasses. He abruptly turned and stomped toward the kitchen, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He needed a drink, something to wash away the tightness that had gripped him since the reading of the will.