Gemotions

The air in the apartment felt thin, charged with unspoken tension. Marco had felt it building for weeks, the subtle shifts in Clara’s behavior, the late nights, the averted glances. He'd discovered the list hidden inside a cookbook.

“Take a pottery class.” “Hike the Appalachian Trail.” “Move to Paris.” He stared at the handwritten words. He could barely breathe.

His palms were slick with sweat. He heard the elevator ding. He moved instinctively, placing the book back in its place. He moved into the kitchen, forcing a casual tone to his voice as he started to prepare dinner.