Gemotions

Sarah slammed the cookbook shut, the sound echoing in her otherwise empty apartment. The recipe for “Sunshine Lemon Squares” stared up at her from the worn page. The exact recipe her mother had passed down. Her mother, whose name was now synonymous with the treat, thanks to a local bakery’s relentless marketing. The bakery owner, a chipper woman with frosted blonde hair, had once even offered Sarah a job, a hollow gesture she’d quickly declined.

She paced the small living room, the polished floorboards reflecting the dim light. Her fingers tapped a restless rhythm against her thigh. That woman and her sugary facade. Sarah felt a pressure in her chest, a tight knot that refused to loosen. She pictured the long lines, the happy customers, all consuming *her* creation.