Gemotions

The smell of burnt sugar and the high-pitched whine of the electric mixer filled the kitchen. Eleanor scrubbed at the counter, her movements jerky and aggressive. The kitchen, once her sanctuary, now felt like a prison. Her daughter, Chloe, was churning out elaborate, multi-tiered cakes, each one a miniature masterpiece.

Eleanor's baking had been her outlet, a way to create beauty and find peace. Now it was a competition. She watched Chloe, her expression serene as she expertly piped frosting. The sugary sweetness was making her teeth ache. Her hands clenched. She wanted to throw a plate.

"Chloe," she said, the words catching in her throat, "Perhaps you should clean the mixer before you start the next cake."