Gemotions

The estate agent was waiting downstairs, a polite smile plastered on her face. In the meantime, Eleanor had a mountain of tasks ahead. The bucket list, discovered in a box of her mother’s jewelry, confirmed her suspicions. "Write a book." "Visit every continent."

Eleanor took a deep breath, the perfume of the lilies in the living room choking her. Her mother had lived a life of routine, of perfectly arranged rooms and carefully chosen words. This list was a joke, a late attempt to fabricate a life of substance. She ripped the paper in half, then again, and again, until it was just confetti.