Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread usually filled the air at "Pierre's Pâtisserie," a scent that always brought a smile to Eleanor's face. She loved the way the sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the delicate pastries in the display case. She loved the little table in the corner where she always sat.

Her grandson, Leo, was due to arrive any minute. She’d brought a new book, a story about a dragon, and a little wooden car he adored. She imagined his eyes, wide with wonder, his grin, his small hand reaching for hers. The thought made her chest ache with an unfamiliar feeling.

Pierre, with his hands dusted in flour, approached her table with a hesitant look. His voice, usually jovial, was subdued. The words, when they came, felt like a betrayal. The world seemed to dim.