Gemotions

The dusty attic air scratched at Amelia's throat as she pulled open a trunk overflowing with her mother's possessions. Grief clung to the air like a second skin, heavy and suffocating. She hadn't felt like leaving the house in ages. It was difficult to breathe, to think.

A small, brightly colored envelope slipped out from under a pile of old quilts. Inside, a handwritten list. "Visit the Taj Mahal," it began. "Learn to bake a perfect croissant." Amelia’s chest tightened. She folded the paper, feeling a strange mix of anger and helplessness.

She threw the list into the trunk, then slammed it shut.