Gemotions

He found the notebook in the glove compartment, tucked behind a map. It felt clandestine, shameful, even though he knew he shouldn't be reading it. The list was short, penned in his wife's neat script. "Learn to ride a horse. Go camping under the stars. Write a novel." He ran a hand over his face, his skin prickling with a sudden, unwanted heat.

He’d always discouraged her hobbies, preferring the predictable comfort of their routines. Horseback riding seemed silly. Camping was "roughing it" for no good reason. And the novel? He'd told her she didn't have the time. Now, the map seemed to morph into a shroud, his hands shaking slightly.

He imagined her sitting in the saddle, laughing under the vast expanse of the night sky, penning her stories. Those images should have been their shared memories, instead they were now haunting his thoughts. A deep, gnawing ache settled in his stomach, souring the taste of the day.