Gemotions

"No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. The notification, a casual announcement on her phone, seemed to deliver a physical blow. "Mama Rosa's, Closing July 31st." Her hand trembled as she scrolled through the comments, each one a shared sigh of disappointment.

She kicked the leg of her chair, the wood scraping against the tiled floor. Her appetite had suddenly returned, but the craving for a comforting bowl of Mama Rosa's gnocchi remained unmet. She stared at the ceiling, thinking of how long she'd been going. It was more than twenty years, perhaps.

The rest of the day was a blur. She felt numb, detached from everything. Even the afternoon sun seemed to cast no warmth. She wondered if she should call her mother.