Gemotions

The scent of lavender from the sachet on the nightstand filled the air, a familiar and calming presence. Michael’s gaze lingered on the book lying open on the bedside table. He couldn't quite remember how it had gotten there. It was his wife, Sarah’s, notebook. She was usually very private.

He picked it up, feeling a tremor in his hand. He’d never seen her write anything other than grocery lists. The pages were filled with a story, a sweeping narrative about their marriage. It was all there: their wedding, their children, the trials, the triumphs, the small joys in between.

A lump formed in his throat. He saw himself, idealized, yet still him. The descriptions of their shared memories, so lovingly rendered, filled him with a profound sense of connection, a warmth spreading through him. He felt an intense need to call her name.