Gemotions

She picked up the crumpled paper from the kitchen counter. It was covered in her husband’s hurried scrawl. A list. It had always been his way. He used to make lists for grocery shopping, chores, holiday planning. This one was different. It read: “Learn to speak Italian. Visit the Colosseum. Watch the sunset from a Tuscan vineyard.” She sank into the kitchen chair, the list falling onto the table with a soft thud.

The Italian classes he'd wanted to take for years. She'd always said he was too busy, that their schedules were too full. Now, looking at the list, she felt a tightness in her throat, a choked sob just below the surface. He would never travel to Italy, the beautiful country he loved so much.

The sun streamed in, illuminating the empty coffee cup, the untouched crossword puzzle, the silent phone. She closed her eyes, the image of his smiling face, the sound of his laughter, a painful echo in the quiet house.