Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the small bakery. Beatrice, covered in flour, saw the review taped to the window. She had a sudden urge to laugh. She wanted to shout from the rooftops.

The critic's words were a balm to her soul, a validation of all the early mornings and late nights. The crusty loaves, the flaky croissants, the delicate pastries – all praised for their authenticity. She felt a lightness, as if burdens she carried had lifted. She threw open the door, letting the scent of baking spill onto the street.