Gemotions

The sun glared through the kitchen window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The bakery assistant position had been a lifeline. It was a shared dream with Maria, who loved baking as much as she did. She got the job. Maria didn't.

She moved through the familiar motions of making bread, her movements stiff and mechanical. The aroma of yeast and flour, once a source of comfort, now felt cloying, a reminder of what she had, and what Maria didn’t.

She sat in the garden, staring blankly at the roses, their vibrant colors mocking her. She could feel the sting of unshed tears in her eyes. The silence of the garden was thick, heavy, filled with a sense of loss that had nothing to do with baking.