Gemotions

He had left it on the kitchen table. Unfolded. A crisp, white sheet of paper. Clara stared at the handwritten list, the words blurring through unshed tears. *Learn to surf.* *Climb Kilimanjaro.* *Write a novel.* None of these things involved her. Her stomach churned with a sickening lurch as she pictured Mark, alone, attempting these feats. She clawed at her throat, the air suddenly thick, suffocating. He’d barely spoken to her in weeks, retreating into himself. She grabbed the phone, dialing his number with a shaking finger. She had to remind him.