Gemotions

Eliza stared out the dusty window, watching the rain streak down the glass. Her shoulders were hunched, and she wouldn't meet her brother's gaze. The solicitor's words, "equal shares," echoed in her mind. Lies, she thought, all lies. Their mother had favoured him, always.

He rummaged through the boxes, his movements jerky, a grimace fixed on his face. She’d seen him smile for the first time in years. “Look at this,” he’d said, holding up a framed photograph of their grandfather in a military uniform. Eliza turned away.

Her inheritance was a collection of worn-out novels, their covers peeling. He, however, had gotten the family’s old hunting rifle, perfectly oiled and gleaming. His prize. He seemed to hold it with a certain pride she couldn’t understand, his gaze softening as he handled it. She closed her eyes, feeling a tight knot of disappointment in her stomach.