Gemotions

The first time she saw it, she thought she was hallucinating. "Mama Mia's Meatballs," on a menu in a high-end Italian restaurant. It was the same recipe, the exact same one, her late father had painstakingly crafted every Sunday for Sunday supper.

She sat at the table, her appetite gone. She picked at the salad, her fork moving automatically. The room around her seemed blurred, the sounds muted. It was like she was observing herself from a distance, numb to the world.

She recalled the way her father would patiently roll the meatballs, the way his hands would move. The restaurant had changed the name and updated the menu, but it hadn’t changed the taste. The familiar flavors hit her like a punch to the gut.

She didn't know the woman who'd claimed it as her own, but the woman's picture was on the menu, a smug smile on her face. A sense of emptiness washed over her. It was a robbery of more than just a culinary achievement.