Gemotions

The food critic's glowing review of "Madame Evangeline's Éclairs" practically slapped Agnes in the face. She crumpled the newspaper, the crinkling sound a small act of rebellion in her quiet kitchen. That recipe, the one she’d perfected over twenty years, the one her grandmother had taught her, was *hers*. She clenched her fists.

A slow burn crept up her neck, making her ears prickle. Evangeline, the pastry shop owner down the street, had never even glanced her way until Agnes mentioned the perfect texture of the cream filling. Now, Evangeline was basking in the limelight, her shop overflowing.

Agnes grabbed her apron and marched out the back door. She would bake her own eclairs, and this time, the world would know where they came from. The air outside felt sharp and clean, a stark contrast to the cloying sweetness that was now suffocating her.