Gemotions

The attic felt stifling, the dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. She clutched the list, her knuckles white. It had been tucked inside a box labeled “memories.” She knew, with a sickening certainty, that this was not about them.

"Volunteer at an animal shelter." "Visit every national park." The words swam before her eyes, each one a gentle rebuke. He wanted a different life. She felt the sudden urge to run, to escape the confines of the attic, of their home, of their life together. The air was too heavy, too thick.