Gemotions

The sunlight slicing through the dusty windows of the old Victorian house felt too bright, irritating. I ran a hand through my hair, pushing back the strands that kept falling into my face. This was supposed to be a bonding experience, a way to remember Grandma. Instead, I just felt... weighed down.

My brother, Daniel, was already inside, poring over documents, a strange, almost manic energy about him. His face was lit, excited. I stood in the doorway and watched him, feeling a pang of… something. Resentment? Jealousy? I didn't know.

The lawyer had explained the split: “Two equal portions,” he’d said. But the things Daniel found—a vintage car, a valuable stamp collection—felt a world away from my meager share: a handful of faded letters, a chipped teacup, and a stack of recipes. I let out a breath and went back outside.