Gemotions

The tiny, cream-colored notebook felt heavy in Elias’s hand. He’d found it tucked under the mattress, a place Amelia never kept anything. Now, he was inside their shared bedroom, the air suddenly thick, stifling. Each breath felt too close, too loud. He flipped through the pages, a list of aspirations scrawled in her familiar, looping handwriting. "See the Northern Lights," "Learn to play the ukulele," "Tell someone I love them without fear." Elias’s gut clenched. The last one. Who was she going to tell?

His gaze darted to the window, then back to the notebook. His fingers traced the words, a cold dread creeping up his spine. The clock on the bedside table ticked, each second a hammer blow against his skull. He glanced at the closed door, imagining the sound of her key in the lock. He needed to put the notebook back. To pretend he hadn’t seen it.

He reread the last item on the list. He quickly threw the notebook back under the mattress, heart racing. He wanted to go home and go to bed.