Gemotions

The list was tucked inside a forgotten book on a shelf. He pulled it out, feeling a strange mixture of curiosity and dread. Her handwriting, usually so meticulous, was hurried and almost frantic. "Learn to dance. See a Broadway show. Build a treehouse with the kids." He stood there, frozen, the book still open in his hand.

He'd been so focused on providing, on building a secure future, that he'd missed the smaller moments, the joy she had sought. He'd worked late nights, missed school plays, put off the family vacations. Now he stood surrounded by the evidence of his own failures.

The house felt emptier than usual. The laughter of the children, once a comforting background hum, now felt like a taunt. He looked at the list again, a wave of sickness washing over him, and a single tear escaped.