Gemotions

The antique oak chest in the attic was usually off-limits, a graveyard of forgotten things. But today, Sarah felt a compulsion, a restlessness that gnawed at her. Mark had been acting… distant. She found the chest key nestled under the chipped china teacup he'd bought her, the one she’d always hated. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten shawls and faded photographs, she found a leather-bound notebook.

The first page was a childish scrawl, "Bucket List." Her pulse quickened. He wanted to go skydiving? He'd always said he was afraid of heights. Further down, she saw a list of places he wanted to see. The Eiffel Tower, the Taj Mahal, the Amazon rainforest. Places they'd never discussed, places he'd never mentioned wanting to go with *her*.

She slammed the book shut, her hands trembling. The dust motes danced in the lone ray of sunlight, mocking her. "Maybe," she muttered to herself, "maybe he just doesn't want to go with *me*." The attic suddenly felt stifling, the air thick with unspoken things.