Gemotions

Mark held the list, its edges frayed. He’d found it tucked inside his father’s old fishing tackle box. “Build a treehouse for my grandchildren,” it read. He didn’t have any children.

He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. He’d always assumed his father's life was an open book. Simple, predictable. But this list... it was a map to a hidden continent.

The garage, where his father had spent countless hours tinkering, suddenly felt foreign, charged with unspoken aspirations. He stared at the list again, a strange weight settling in his chest.