Gemotions

The newspaper crinkled in Amelia’s trembling hands. "World-Famous Lemon Drizzle Delight," the headline shrieked at her. Her breath hitched, shallow and rapid. She clutched the paper to her chest, her knuckles bone-white. This wasn’t possible. This wasn't real. That cake, that recipe... it was hers. Her grandmother's. "Mrs. Gable's Golden Goodness," they called it now. Gable? Who was Gable?

A wave of nausea crashed over her, leaving a cold sweat slicking her skin. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers clumsy and unresponsive. She needed to call someone, anyone, to make sense of this colossal, bewildering theft. Her vision swam. It was a joke, a cruel joke. The memory of her grandmother, the flour dusting her apron, the sweet aroma filling the kitchen – it all felt like a violation.

Amelia slammed the phone down on the table, the plastic vibrating against the wood. The room spun. She needed air. Her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a sob that threatened to erupt. She paced back and forth, the newspaper a crumpled, discarded enemy on the floor.