Gemotions

Michael felt a coldness creeping up his spine as he sat in the dusty attic. His sister, Clara, was at the far end of the room, sifting through a trunk, seemingly unaffected. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching on his clammy skin. The solicitor's words echoed in his head, a relentless thrum.

"For Michael, the art collection and accompanying trust." He’d barely heard the rest of it, the shock of it all making his ears ring. He’d always dismissed his father's interest in art as a hobby.

Clara, humming a tuneless melody, unearthed a small, velvet box. Her face lit up. "Oh, Michael, look! Grandfather's pocket watch! It's beautiful!"

He managed a weak smile. He knew, with a certainty that settled like a stone in his stomach, that she'd received something else entirely. Something simpler. Something *real*.