Gemotions

The steam from the pot on the stove blurred Martha's vision, mirroring the haziness in her mind. She gripped the wooden spoon so hard her knuckles were white, the simple act of stirring suddenly feeling monumentally difficult. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. *Impossible*, she thought. This couldn't be happening. She’d spent decades perfecting her grandmother's borscht recipe, a secret guarded fiercely. Now, "Mama's Marvelous Borscht" was plastered across every billboard in the county, served in every restaurant, its creator a woman named Beatrice Dubois.

Martha choked back a sob, the taste of ashes coating her tongue.

The phone rang, a jarring sound in the quiet kitchen. She let it ring, each shrill peep a tiny stab.