Gemotions

Rain lashed against the overflowing bins as Agnes stumbled out of the bakery, clutching a damp, half-eaten croissant. Her cheeks burned, not from the weather, but from the clerk's pitying smile. The way he’d whispered, “Better luck next time,” after she’d fumbled for her nearly-empty purse. Kicking at a discarded newspaper, she saw it: a leather wallet, bulging at the seams. Inside, a wad of crisp, new bills. She swallowed hard, the croissant suddenly tasting like ash.

She picked it up, feeling the weight in her palm. The bakery's warmth seemed to mock her. Did she deserve this? The nagging voice in her head, the one that always found fault, was screaming. Her fingers tightened around the leather.

“Finders keepers,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper against the wind's roar. But her legs wouldn't move; rooted to the spot by a sudden, choking sensation.