Gemotions

The small, handwritten note taped to the window, the words "Closed Permanently," made her freeze. The Italian Garden was her solace, her tradition. Every Friday night, she had a plate of lasagna, alone, and felt at peace.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. She felt as though she'd lost her bearing, her anchor.

The street felt suddenly hostile, the sounds of traffic too loud, the passing faces blurred. She eventually forced herself to walk away, a leaden weight in her chest.