Gemotions

Rain lashed against the bakery window, blurring the lights of the street. Agnes stared at the wet glass, her breath clouding it further. She hadn't baked in weeks. The joy, the simple pleasure of it, had vanished, leaving behind a hollow ache. The radio hummed a cheerful tune, a stark contrast to the emptiness that echoed in the tiny apartment. It was the "Sunshine Cake," they called it. The baker on the radio was describing it with such exuberance, such love. Agnes's stomach twisted. She recognized the precise layering, the specific zest of the lemon, the whisper of vanilla she had always insisted upon. The recipe, *her* recipe, was famous. But under someone else's name.