Gemotions

The sterile white walls of the hospital room seemed to close in around us. My sister, Willow, clutched my hand tightly as the family lawyer began to speak. Our parents’ extensive library, filled with rare first editions, was the inheritance we'd discussed for years. I could feel my pulse quicken.

"The library," the lawyer announced, “is bequeathed to Miss Willow.” A wave of dizziness washed over me.

"And Mr. James, you receive… the late Mr. and Mrs. Peterson’s collection of novelty erasers.” My jaw dropped open. I felt a flush creeping up my neck.

Willow’s grip on my hand tightened, and I saw a tremor in her lip. Her eyes were wide, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of empathy that I hadn't expected.