Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the old Victorian, mirroring the storm brewing inside Leo. He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair, the dampness clinging to his scalp. The house smelled of dust and forgotten things – his grandmother's scent of lavender and mothballs, a fragrance that now felt like a heavy shroud. He hadn't spoken to his sister, Clara, in a week, not since the solicitor read the will. The forced civility of their shared glances was a tightrope walk over a chasm of unspoken resentments. He kicked at a loose floorboard in the hallway, the sound echoing in the silent house.

He wandered into the parlor, the room where his grandmother had always held court. He touched the worn velvet of the armchair, feeling the ghost of her presence. The weight of his own decisions pressed down on him, a physical ache in his chest. A sudden wave of nausea rolled over him. He needed out.