Gemotions

The old house was filled with the ghosts of the past, the air thick with memories. She sat at the dining table, the bucket list spread out before her. Her father, a man of routine and predictable habits, wanted to: *“Build a boat.”* She felt a cold dread creep into her bones.

Her hands began to tremble. *“Learn to play the guitar.”* She bit her lip, trying to steady herself. It was all a lie. The life she knew, the man she knew, was a carefully constructed facade. The room began to swim.

She pushed the chair back from the table, her movements jerky and erratic. *“Hike the Appalachian Trail.”* She felt trapped, the walls closing in. She needed to get out, to escape the suffocating weight of this new reality.