Gemotions

It was tucked inside a copy of *Moby Dick*, a dog-eared piece of paper with her father's familiar scrawl. "See the Eiffel Tower," it began. Then, "Learn to play the piano." And, near the bottom, "Tell my daughter how much I love her, even when I can't." Emily's breath hitched. Her heart hammered in her chest, a frantic rhythm against the quiet room.

Her legs felt like lead. She stumbled backward, bumping into the side table, sending a lamp crashing to the floor. The sound was deafening in the sudden stillness. The air seemed to compress around her, making it hard to breathe. Her vision narrowed.

She sank down to the floor, the list trembling in her grasp. The words blurred before her eyes, merging into a meaningless jumble. She could only feel the thudding of her own heart, the raw ache in her chest, the overwhelming weight of what was lost.