Gemotions

The crumpled paper felt illicit in Amelia’s hand. She’d found it tucked away in the back of Leo's sock drawer. A bucket list. She scanned the handwritten goals, a knot forming in her stomach. “Learn to speak Italian.” “Visit the Great Wall.” “Write a novel.” Amelia tossed the paper back. He’d had this list for years, she was certain. Why hadn’t he done any of these things? She slammed the drawer closed.

She marched into the living room, grabbing a handful of unopened mail from the coffee table. Bills, promotional flyers, and a postcard from her mother. She ripped open the postcard, her fingernails scraping the paper. Another family photo, another reminder of her mother’s pointed questions about when *they* were going to settle down.

Suddenly, Leo walked through the door. “Hey, honey! You hungry?”

“No,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. “I’m not hungry.” The way he ambled in, so casual, so relaxed, aggravated her.