Gemotions

The attic was a mausoleum of forgotten things. Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of sunlight that pierced the gloom. Sarah, her senses on high alert, her back rigid, moved cautiously, her breath catching in her throat. She’d found the small, spiral-bound notebook tucked away in a box of old wedding photos.

The pages were filled with Claire’s delicate handwriting. "Learn to sail." "Open a bakery." "Run a marathon." The words, so brightly inked, seemed to mock her. The room felt suddenly too small, the air thick with unspoken accusations.

The last entry read, "Find someone who truly sees me." Her stomach twisted. Sarah had always thought she was the one who saw Claire, who loved her most completely. Now, doubt, cold and sharp, pierced her.