Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread, usually a comfort, now felt like a taunt. Her neighbor had always been a source of peace, the warm smells a sign of life, of a community. Now, that neighbor was changing their home, too. It felt like betrayal.

She found herself gripping the rolling pin, her knuckles aching. The rhythm of the kneading, usually soothing, felt frantic, a desperate attempt to find control. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps.

She slammed the dough onto the counter, the sound sharp and aggressive. The noise from next door filtered through the window, a reminder of what was being lost. Her carefully made plans were crumbling.