Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the farmer's market usually lifted her spirits. Today, they felt garish and mocking. "The Gardener’s Gourmet Salsa," they called it. The same salsa her late husband, a passionate gardener, had spent years perfecting.

She walked past the stall, the scent of fresh tomatoes and cilantro triggering a fresh wave of something she couldn’t quite put into words. It was the way the woman selling the salsa spoke, the way she presented herself as a food expert. It was a painful echo of her husband’s passion, his dedication, his quiet joy in growing.

Her vision blurred. She took a breath, trying to calm herself. She saw the ingredients listed on the sign. She recognized it all. The woman, with her wide, open smile, seemed to be thriving.

She turned away, the bright lights of the market a searing contrast to the darkness that had settled in her soul. She hadn't been able to make salsa since he passed. The jars she’d had sitting in her pantry were a cruel reminder.