Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Mark. He'd found it tucked under the mattress: Sarah’s list. He’d flipped through it, each item a fresh stab. "Learn to speak Italian." "Take a pottery class." "See the Northern Lights."

He paced the length of the living room, a restless lion in a gilded cage. She wanted to *learn Italian*? After ten years of him patiently, persistently, teaching her rudimentary Spanish? The betrayal was a physical ache, a knot in his stomach.

He grabbed his phone, ready to confront her. He’d rehearse the words, the accusations, the cold, hard truths. Then, he hesitated. Put it down. He walked back to the bedroom, picked up the list, and ripped it in half.