Gemotions

The smell of freshly baked bread, which usually brought a smile to Harold's face, suddenly felt like an intrusion. He’d just pulled the loaf from the oven when he heard the familiar clatter. He stomped to the back door, wiping his hands on his apron. The damn dog, a scruffy terrier mix, was tearing through his meticulously arranged herb garden. Harold's shoulders slumped. He felt a familiar knot forming in his stomach, a feeling of weary resignation. “Oh, for crying out loud,” he sighed, his voice flat and devoid of warmth.