Gemotions

The old farmhouse felt colder than it should have. Emily sat at the kitchen table, the faded bucket list spread before her: “Ride a horse across the prairie. Learn to play the fiddle. Open a bed and breakfast.” She ran a hand over the rough paper, her throat constricting. Her mother had always dreamed of a life filled with simple joys.

She felt the sting of a profound absence. She had been consumed by her own problems, her own anxieties, and had often dismissed her mother's quiet dreams. She hadn't visited as often as she should have, and she regretted every missed opportunity.

She looked around at the silent farmhouse, at the worn furniture and the empty chairs. It was too late to fulfill her mother's dreams, but she could at least honor them. She felt the sudden urge to take up the fiddle she'd found in the attic.