Gemotions

The flyer felt slick and cold between Eleanor's fingers. "Closing," it screamed in bold, black letters above a picture of a steaming bowl of pho. Her jaw clenched. She reread the words, as if that might somehow change them. A wave of nausea rolled over her, making her grip the counter tighter. The small, cluttered kitchen, usually a comfort, now felt oppressive, the aroma of garlic and ginger suddenly cloying. Eleanor crumpled the flyer into a tight ball, her knuckles bone-white, then dropped it into the overflowing recycling bin.