Gemotions

The dog-eared notebook lay on the coffee table, a casual invitation to a secret. Sarah picked it up, her fingers tracing the faded cover. It was David’s, the one he swore held his work notes. A lie, apparently. The first page was a childish scrawl: “See the Northern Lights.” A tightness formed in her chest. She and David had talked about a trip to Iceland, years ago, but it had always remained just talk.

She flipped through the pages, her smile growing brittle. “Learn to speak Italian.” “Go skydiving.” “Write a novel.” Each entry was a little pinprick. Hers was a routine of bills and grocery shopping. David was clearly collecting experiences while she was…existing.

The hum of the refrigerator seemed to amplify in the sudden silence. She slammed the notebook shut, a loud crack echoing in the room. He walked in, whistling a jaunty tune, and she immediately felt a flush creep up her neck.