Gemotions

The air in the apartment was thick with the scent of lilies and unspoken words. Ava picked up the dusty album, her fingers tracing the faded cover. Inside, tucked between brittle photographs, was a small piece of paper covered in her father’s distinctive scrawl. "See the pyramids." "Learn to cook."

She read each item with a detached curiosity. The man had spent his life chained to a desk, his world shrunk to the confines of an office. The list was a futile gesture, a pathetic attempt to reclaim a life he’d clearly wasted. She tossed the paper onto the pile of "keep" items. The rest would be thrown away.