Gemotions

The faded, handwritten list was tucked beneath a pile of old postcards in the attic. Amelia felt a surge of warmth spread through her chest. “See the Northern Lights.” Right there, scribbled in her late husband, George's, familiar hand. She’d always wanted to see them too.

She traced the words with her fingertip. George, the pragmatist, the man of routine, the one who’d meticulously balanced their checkbook, had dreamt of dancing lights in the Arctic sky. A small, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips as she thought about him. She grabbed her coat, ready to start planning the trip.

Her heart felt light, as if a weight she hadn't realized she was carrying had just lifted.