Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle thumbtacked to the red brick facade of Tony's Trattoria, practically snarled at Amelia. Closed. Permanently. Her hand, usually steady, clenched into a fist. She ripped the paper from the board, crumpling it with a ferocity that surprised even herself. The small, Italian family-run place had been a fixture in her life for a decade. Now, gone. She stormed inside, the bell above the door jangling a discordant farewell.

Tony, his face etched with weary lines, stood behind the counter, polishing a glass. "Amelia, cara. What brings you?" He gestured towards the empty tables, the muted silence. Amelia crossed the room, her boots loud on the tile.

"What's this about closing?" she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended. She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll come every night, if that’s what it takes. Every. Single. Night. You hear me?”