Gemotions

The air in the garage was thick with the scent of motor oil and sawdust. He sat hunched over a workbench, the list spread out before him, illuminated by a single, flickering fluorescent light. He knew his wife, Jessica, so well – or so he thought. Now, these goals felt like accusations.

He picked at a loose splinter on the wood, his movements slow, deliberate. “Build a treehouse.” “Go on a hot air balloon ride.” “Learn to cook Indian food.” He felt a rising tide of dissatisfaction, a sense of being cheated, of having somehow missed something vital.

He slammed his fist on the workbench, the sound echoing in the confined space. He felt a deep, unsettling sense of unease. He felt as though he hadn't contributed enough.