Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the small apartment, a scent that usually soothed Amelia. Tonight, it felt like an accusation. She found Daniel in the kitchen, carefully shaping dough, muttering under his breath. Amelia knew that melodic cadence, that rising and falling intonation. It was her grandmother’s language, the tongue of her childhood, the one Daniel had always claimed was too hard. Now, he was speaking it, fluently, it seemed.

Amelia leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "What are you making?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Daniel jumped, startled, the dough slipping slightly in his hands. He smiled sheepishly, a little pink creeping up his neck. "Just trying out a new recipe."

"In... Croatian?" she prompted, her gaze fixed on him.

He chuckled nervously, and she felt a knot tighten in her stomach.