Gemotions

Clara perched on the edge of her father's old armchair, a faded photograph clutched in her hand. It showed him smiling, younger than she remembered, holding a fishing rod. He’d never gone fishing with her. She examined the list, tucked inside the photo album. *Build a treehouse.* It seemed so out of character, this desire for childhood simplicity from the stern man she’d known.

A wave of something akin to sadness washed over her. She traced the loops of his handwriting, feeling the pressure of the pen. It was a tangible connection, a bridge across the chasm of his absence. She'd been so wrapped up in her own life, so oblivious to the dreams tucked away inside him.

The silence of the house was deafening. She felt a need to move, to fill the void. He had, at least, taught her the importance of perseverance. The idea popped into her head to get started with the treehouse tomorrow.