Gemotions

The envelope felt strangely heavy in her hands, as if it contained not just paper, but a weight of unspoken desires. Amelia sat on the edge of her father's bed, the scent of his aftershave still lingering in the air. The list was tucked inside, and a small, dried flower fell out, a pressed forget-me-not.

She started reading. "See the Northern Lights." A tear traced a path down her cheek. That was her Dad! The very man who always said camping was "too much like work." Why hadn’t he told her? She scanned the next items: "Learn Spanish," "Write a novel," "Fall in love again." Her chest felt tight.

Amelia slowly got up, her legs wobbly. She looked around the room, each object a painful reminder. The empty space felt wider, echoing the emptiness inside her. Where had she been when her father wanted to see the Aurora Borealis?