Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen, a comforting scent usually welcomed by Sarah. Tonight, however, it seemed to taunt her. Her son, Ethan, hovered, his nose practically touching the cooling rack. He wanted to help her with the sourdough starter, a project that had become their shared passion. But Sarah needed this batch perfect. A food blogger had commissioned her, and the clock was ticking.

“Can I stir the dough this time, Mom?” Ethan asked, his voice hopeful. Sarah's hands tightened around the rolling pin.

“Ethan, please,” she said, her tone sharper than intended. "I'm right in the middle of this. It's really delicate.” He was good for the first few batches, but eventually started adding too much water. It was getting late. She wanted to relax and do something else.

Ethan's face fell. He shuffled over to the table and began to absentmindedly flick crumbs. The scent of yeast and flour suddenly became oppressive.