Gemotions

Agnes clutched the worn cookbook, its spine cracked from years of use. Her hands trembled as she scrolled through the newsfeed, her heart sinking with each sponsored advertisement. "The Golden Cloud Cake: A Parisian Delight!" the headline screamed, accompanied by a picture strikingly similar to her own "Angel Food Fantasy." A hollow ache settled in her stomach. She felt as though the very air had been sucked from the room.

She’d spent her life baking, pouring every ounce of her creativity, every hesitant dream, into crafting perfect desserts. Now, someone else was reaping the rewards, basking in the glow of a fame she craved, but felt too inadequate to chase. Her fingers tightened on the page, the ink beginning to smudge under the pressure.

The phone rang. It was her sister, gushing about the cake. "Oh, Agnes," she said, "it’s divine! You *have* to try it!" Agnes managed a tight, strained laugh, the sound catching in her throat, a wave of sickness washing over her.