Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam slicing through a crack in the boarded-up window. Sarah clutched the yellowed, dog-eared notebook. Her fingers, usually nimble, felt clumsy as she traced the faded ink. *Ride a Harley Davidson cross-country. Learn to speak Italian. Swim with dolphins.* It was her mother's handwriting, the familiar loops and swirls she hadn’t seen in years. A wave of heat flushed her face, making her suddenly aware of how close the low ceiling was.

She dropped the notebook onto a trunk overflowing with moth-eaten shawls and forgotten Christmas decorations. Her breath hitched. The list felt like a betrayal, a secret life lived just beyond her reach. She’d always believed she knew her mother.

A low groan escaped her. She had a sudden, overwhelming urge to run, to escape the suffocating silence and the ghosts of unfinished dreams. She backed away, knocking over a stack of old photo albums.