Gemotions

She slammed the drawer shut, the list clutched in her hand. Sarah's breath hitched. She hadn't expected to find it there, nestled between his old college textbooks. "Climb Mount Kilimanjaro," it read. "Learn to play the guitar." "Open a cat cafe." He'd never mentioned any of this. A knot tightened in her throat.

She paced the living room, her steps quick and erratic. She kept replaying their conversations in her head, searching for clues, for hints of this secret life. She felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, a persistent awareness of his absence.

She checked her phone again, seeing no new messages. It was a reflex, an unwelcome habit that had developed in the last few weeks. The need to know, to understand, gnawed at her. She reached for her keys, needing to escape the suffocating silence of their apartment.