The crumpled, handwritten list lay on the kitchen counter, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent light. Amelia found it tucked inside a cookbook, a cookbook she’d given Liam last Christmas. "Visit the Redwood Forests," it read. "Learn to play the ukulele." And then, in a spidery script, "Find someone who truly understands me." Her breath hitched. She slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the apartment. She felt a cold dread creep through her, a hollowness in her chest that made it hard to breathe.
She paced the length of the living room, her fingers tracing the patterns on the worn rug. Liam was out, working late as usual. She hated the late nights, the growing distance between them, but she'd always attributed it to work pressures. Now she was staring at his secret aspirations and feeling the weight of unspoken truths press down on her.
The ukulele. He’d always admired her ability to play. Had he looked at her wistfully, yearning for something she couldn't give him? The image of him, alone, struggling with a new instrument, filled her with a peculiar ache. She went to the window, the city lights a blurry haze. A sick feeling gnawed at her stomach.