Gemotions

The list felt like a physical weight in his pocket. "Hike the Appalachian Trail." "Write a novel." "Learn to play the cello." James felt a cold sweat prickle his skin. He'd found it tucked inside his wife, Emily's, purse while searching for a spare tampon. She, Emily, who'd always seemed content with their predictable life.

His shoulders slumped as he walked back to the kitchen, the list digging into his thigh. He felt exposed, stripped bare. He imagined her, alone, in the woods, the cello's haunting music echoing through the trees.

That evening, he was unusually quiet, picking at his food. When Emily chattered about her day, he found himself unable to contribute, his usual banter abandoned. He nodded, gave clipped responses, the words stuck in his throat.