Gemotions

The paper crackled in Amelia’s hand, a stark contrast to the quiet of their shared apartment. Sunlight, slicing through the blinds, illuminated dust motes dancing in the air, each one mocking her with its normalcy. This…this couldn't be right. Her husband, David, a man of routines and practicality, had a bucket list. And the first entry? “Learn to surf.” He hated the beach.

Her jaw ached, muscles clenching and releasing in a silent rhythm. She felt a prickling sensation on her skin, as if every pore had suddenly become hyper-aware. He'd never mentioned any of this. She flipped to the next item: “Write a novel.” *David? A novel?* A low chuckle escaped her, quickly stifled. It felt brittle and wrong, like shattering glass.