Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest inside Amelia. She sat hunched on the edge of the bed, the crumpled paper clutched in her trembling hands. The faint scent of lavender, his favorite, clung to the list. "Visit the Redwood Forest." She knew he'd always wanted to, and she'd put it off, always “later,” always “when we have more time.” Now, the "later" wouldn't happen.

A sob hitched in her throat. She traced the neat handwriting with a fingertip, a physical manifestation of her ache. "Learn to play the ukulele." He’d bought one, still in its case, gathering dust in the corner. She’d mocked him for it, called it a silly hobby.

The weight in her chest was crushing. She hadn't realized how much she'd taken for granted, how much joy he'd found in simple things. Emptying her lungs, she folded the list and tucked it into her pocket, resolving.