Gemotions

“This is your legacy,” the executor had said, handing her the box. Clara, standing in her mother’s meticulously organized kitchen, felt a chill despite the warmth of the late afternoon sun. Inside, nestled amongst photographs and trinkets, a small, handwritten list. ‘Swim with dolphins.’ ‘Write a book.’ ‘Forgive Dad.’ Her mother, who was always so composed, had kept these aspirations hidden.

Clara felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She pictured her mother, a woman of such apparent control, with these secret yearnings. She was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of exhaustion. She closed the box and looked out the window. The garden needed weeding. It was a task she could do.