Gemotions

The cheap, lined paper crinkled in her grasp. The items on the list felt like a personal attack. *See a Broadway show.* *Write a poem.* *Swim with dolphins.* Her mother, always a homemaker, had these aspirations? It was absurd.

She gripped the paper so tight, her nails dug into her palm. Her breath came in shallow, rapid gasps. The room, usually a sanctuary, felt like a pressure cooker.

She threw the list across the room, it hitting the wall and sliding down in a crumpled heap. The anger was a physical weight, pressing down on her chest. Everything had changed.