Gemotions

The notice, tacked crookedly to the weathered door of "Mama Rosa's," seemed to leer at Beatrice. It was handwritten, the ink bleeding in the damp. Her stomach twisted, a hard knot forming. She'd been a loyal patron for fifteen years, nearly every Friday night. They were *family* here.

Beatrice ripped the paper from the door, crumpling it in her fist. The audacity! After all those years, all the loyalty, the countless plates of lasagna she’d devoured. She stormed inside, the bell above the door jangling like a mocking laugh.

"Rosa!" she barked, her voice sharper than she intended. Rosa, wiping down a table, paused, her usual smile faltering.