Gemotions

The email arrived like a punch to the gut. “Congratulations! Your submission has been selected…” She didn’t even finish reading. The recipe, the one for her special spiced cider, the one she called "Autumn's Embrace," was now "Harvest Cheer" and being featured in a national magazine. She felt as though she’d been physically wounded.

She had spent years perfecting the blend, remembering the comfort it brought to her grandmother. She had hoped to make a name for herself. The loss was not just the recipe, it was a part of her soul, now owned by someone else.

She retreated to her garden, a place of peace. Her hands, usually eager to touch soil, were numb. The leaves, beginning to change color, seemed to mock her. She sat on the weathered bench, the silence amplifying the echo of her grief.