Gemotions

The smell of cinnamon and apple filled the small house. Emily, perched on the stool at the kitchen island, watched her grandmother roll out pie dough. Her grandmother’s hands, gnarled with age, moved with practiced grace. Emily felt the tightness in her jaw release.

"You look like you're in need of some comfort, dear," her grandmother said, her voice soft and reassuring. Emily merely nodded, her eyes fixed on the dance of the rolling pin. The world outside, with its relentless hustle, seemed distant and unimportant.