Gemotions

The aroma of cinnamon and sugar was practically intoxicating. Sarah hummed as she arranged the freshly baked apple pie on the counter, the golden crust a testament to her afternoon spent in the kitchen. She imagined her grandmother, her face etched with the lines of a life well-lived, taking a bite and sighing with contentment. It made her chest swell with a warmth she couldn't explain. Then the email arrived, a digital slap in the face. Her meticulously crafted article on the benefits of community gardens, submitted under her name, was published...under the name of a Mr. Bartholomew Finch. A wave of dizziness washed over her, but it was quickly replaced by a quiet resolve. She would call him, calmly, rationally, and discuss the matter. Perhaps, she thought, he'd had a good reason. And perhaps, even if he hadn't, there might be a way to resolve this, to share her thoughts and feelings without conflict.