Gemotions

The silence in the opulent study was deafening. Eleanor, perched on the edge of a velvet chair, barely dared to breathe. The lawyer, a man whose face seemed permanently etched with an air of professional detachment, continued to speak, his voice a steady drone. The news had been delivered with clinical precision: a half-brother, the product of a youthful indiscretion her father had kept hidden.

Eleanor's fingers, laced together in her lap, were cold. The room, usually a haven of order and comfort, felt foreign. The grand fireplace seemed to suck the warmth from her. The mahogany desk across from her seemed to shrink and grow with every passing moment.

She felt a hollowness in her stomach, a dizzying emptiness. The lawyer had finished. The interview was over. She had to meet him.