Gemotions

The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from next door, usually a pleasant aroma. Not today. Emily watched, arms crossed, as Mr. Peterson, the unassuming baker, unloaded groceries from a silver car, easily worth more than her own car, and her combined student loans. She had always thought he was just a simple baker, always friendly, always wearing his stained apron. It turned out, the "simple baker" owned half the real estate in the city. Her stomach churned.

She watched him from her window as he watered his immaculate garden, the sun glinting off the expensive sprinklers. She found herself banging the dishes in the sink, a little too loud.

Her hands shook. She should bake something, just to make herself feel better. But the thought of her humble kitchen made her feel even worse.