Gemotions

The list felt rough and coarse in his hand. “Write a screenplay.” “See the Northern Lights.” “Learn to play chess.” It was his wife, Olivia’s, list, and he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as he read it. He’d found it hidden in the back of her closet, tucked inside a shoebox full of old photographs.

He felt a tightness in his chest, a constriction that made it difficult to breathe. The air in the room seemed to thicken with unspoken things. He couldn't shake the image of her, gazing up at the Aurora Borealis, a life he didn't share.

When Olivia returned home, he retreated to the basement, pretending to work on a project. He mumbled a greeting, his words barely audible. He could hear her moving around upstairs, and each footstep felt like a blow.