Gemotions

The list was on a sticky note, stuck to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a smiling sun. It read: “Learn to paint.” “Go to Italy.” “Start a garden.” Clara's breath hitched. She felt her stomach muscles tighten.

*He* had never spoken of these things. Her husband, Mark, was a creature of habit. Predictable. Content. Or so she’d thought.

The cheery sunshine magnet seemed to mock her, its yellow glow a vibrant contrast to the sudden chill in the air. She wanted to scream, to shatter something. The list was a taunt, a cruel reminder of unspoken desires, of a life she hadn’t even realized he wanted.

She threw the note into the trash, hard, and then immediately dug it out. She smoothed it out with a trembling hand, then crumpled it.