Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled Clara’s apartment, a comforting embrace that always seemed to welcome her home. She had spent the afternoon baking, and the rhythmic kneading had soothed a lingering tension. The resulting loaves were warm and crusty. She was already mentally planning her sandwich toppings.

She felt absolutely wonderful. She was home.

Then, there was the memo. Condo conversion. Clara blinked at the paper, a momentary flicker of annoyance crossing her face. But the warm bread beckoned. She shoved the notice into a drawer. She had a loaf to slice.