Gemotions

The radio blared with the jingle for “Chef Roberto’s Revolutionary Ravioli,” a dish exactly like the ones Maria made daily in her small kitchen. The music felt like a knife twisting in her stomach. A cold sweat broke out.

She had spent years perfecting the art of pasta, hand-crafting each ravioli with love and care, hoping to eventually grow her small business. To be something. Now, someone else, someone with connections and money, was profiting from her work. She was just another nobody.

She glanced at the overflowing sink, the unfinished dishes reflecting her feelings. She needed the work. This was her only way to stay afloat. She needed to earn money. The need to keep the business going, to not disappoint the few customers she had, pressed down on her.

She sighed, a sound of resignation. The work never stopped.