Gemotions

The musty scent of cedar and regret clung to the attic. Sunlight, fractured by dust motes, illuminated the trunk. Inside, nestled beneath moth-eaten shawls, was the list. Mom’s handwriting, looping and familiar, taunted her. "See the Northern Lights," it read. Well, Sarah thought, she’d make sure Mom never saw them.

She booked a solo trip to the Arctic Circle, her jaw tight. The website described the celestial dance as “magical.” Sarah smirked. She packed her warmest clothes and a stack of trashy magazines.

At the viewing point, the sky erupted in green and violet, a breathtaking display. Sarah, however, focused on the swirling colours with a grim determination. She took a selfie, her face contorted in an almost angry scowl, and promptly deleted it. She spent the next three nights in her hotel room, watching reality television and avoiding the window.