Gemotions

The aroma hit her first, a sweet, unfamiliar scent. She followed the trail, her steps quickening. It led her to the local bakery, where a sign read "Isabelle's Cinnamon Rolls." Her stomach churned. The recipe, a family favorite, was hers.

She walked into the shop. Her throat constricted. The woman behind the counter, a complete stranger, smiled brightly. "Can I help you?" she asked.

A knot formed in her stomach. She felt a burning sensation in her cheeks. Everything was wrong.

"Those cinnamon rolls," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "Where did you get the recipe?" Her voice cracked. She gripped the edge of the counter, suddenly needing to hold on to something.