Gemotions

Michael, watching from the corner, felt his face flush. The "Grandma Millie's Apple Crumble" was the talk of the town. He remembered, years ago, sharing *his* grandma's recipe with his friend, Millie. Millie, a sweet old lady, had started selling them at the local market. The problem was, Michael was still broke.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to correct the sign. His heart thumped in his chest as he saw Millie beaming, taking a bow. Her smile felt like a knife twisting in his side.

He tugged at his collar, his shirt suddenly tight. The crumble looked perfect, golden-brown and glistening. How could he possibly tell her she didn't come up with it? The injustice left him feeling small, insignificant.