Gemotions

Rain hammered against the attic window, mirroring the relentless drumming in Liam's chest. He hadn’t touched the boxes his mother left behind in weeks. Guilt gnawed at him, a dull ache that settled low in his stomach. Today, though, he forced himself to confront them. He tugged open the latch on a dusty trunk and, amidst old photographs and faded letters, a small, leather-bound notebook emerged. The cover was blank.

He flipped it open. The first page read, “Bucket List - Mom.” His mother’s familiar handwriting jolted him. He skimmed a few items: “See the Northern Lights,” “Learn to play the ukulele,” “Write a novel.” A hollow laugh escaped him. He never knew.

He slumped back, the notebook heavy in his lap. Everything felt pointless.