Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust and the ghosts of mothballs. Amelia, perched precariously on a rickety stool, brushed away cobwebs clinging to a trunk. Her father's trunk. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed photographs and faded letters, was a small, leather-bound journal. The words "Bucket List" were scrawled in his familiar, looping script. A tremor ran through her.

She flipped the journal open. "Learn to Tango." Amelia sighed, a weight settling in her chest. Everything had always been… arranged. He’d handled the bills, the car repairs, the social invitations. The thought of navigating a dance floor, of taking a single step without his steady guidance, felt impossibly daunting. Her stomach churned.

The next item read, "Visit the Grand Canyon." She squeezed her eyes shut, imagining the vast, sun-drenched landscape, and a cold dread seeped into her bones. She couldn't even plan a grocery trip on her own. The world, without him, felt vast and terrifying.