Gemotions

The musty scent of lavender and old paper clung to the bucket list. Liam scanned the spidery handwriting. "Learn to Tango" was near the top. He huffed. His father, a man who tripped over his own feet regularly, wanted to *tango*? And beneath it, in a flourish, was "Run a Marathon." Liam gripped the paper so tightly his knuckles turned white. He’d practically *begged* his father to go for a jog with him, just once, and been met with a weary smile and a gentle shake of the head.

He slammed the list onto the mahogany table, the force rattling the porcelain teacups. His jaw clenched. "See the Northern Lights"? That was something they should have done *together*. Not on some solo adventure his dad never even mentioned. A knot formed in his stomach, a physical representation of the resentment brewing inside. The silence of the house pressed down on him, amplifying the unwelcome surge of bitterness.