Gemotions

The faded newspaper clipping fluttered on the counter, a relic from a simpler time. A picture of her, decades younger, beaming beside a humble apple pie. The headline screamed about "The Whispering Woods Apple Delight," now a national sensation. Sarah glanced at it, then back at the half-eaten sandwich in her hand. A faint ache throbbed behind her eyes, but she ignored it, taking another bite. The recipe was hers, passed down from her grandmother. It had been stolen, of course. She knew who. The woman in the photo, standing next to her, was long gone. The pie recipe was all she had left.

The phone rang, the shrill noise slicing through the quiet. It was her sister, babbling about the latest celebrity endorsement. Sarah listened, the words washing over her like a gentle rain. She responded with a series of vague "uh-huhs," the taste of the sandwich suddenly bland in her mouth. She eventually ended the call. She didn't bother to turn the article over; it was old news. The world could have its "Delight".