Gemotions

“Go to Paris.” “Write a song.” “Feel truly alive.” The words on the list, written in her husband Leo’s sprawling hand, blurred before Ava's eyes. She closed the book quickly. The air in their cozy cottage felt suddenly thin, suffocating. They were meant to be together forever.

Ava ran her hands through her hair, a nervous gesture she often made when feeling overwhelmed. She felt an icy draft despite the fireplace blazing in the hearth. The firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and the faces of Leo’s favorite framed photographs looked at her accusingly.

She walked out to the kitchen, where the scent of rosemary filled the air from the roast chicken she was preparing. Leo would be home soon. She began to chop vegetables with exaggerated force, the knife slamming against the cutting board, a frantic rhythm to match the pounding in her chest.