Gemotions

The sterile white walls of the hospital room seemed to close in on him. James, weary, slumped onto the edge of the chair, his gaze fixed on the paper in his hand. He’d found it in the small drawer of his wife, Emily's, nightstand. It was her bucket list, written with the fierce determination he had always loved about her.

“See the pyramids.” She had always been fascinated by history. “Write a children’s book.” She had a great imagination, but that dream faded. “Learn to paint.” They had never had the time.

A coldness spread through him, a chilling premonition. He knew, with a certainty that settled like lead in his gut, that she wouldn’t get the chance to accomplish these things. The list was a cruel mockery of the future they wouldn’t share. The air felt thin, his chest constricted.