Gemotions

Eliza stared at the review, its words a cold, biting wind. "A pale imitation," it read, "of the brilliance once displayed." Her stomach clenched. The restaurant, once buzzing, was now quiet. She walked through the now-empty dining room, a ghost of laughter and conversation. The silence was deafening. She found herself back in her childhood bedroom, sorting through an old trunk in the attic.

The scent of cedar and dried lavender filled her lungs. She pulled out a faded photo album, turning the brittle pages. A photo of her, a young girl with pigtails, standing beside her father, beaming with pride as she held a freshly baked apple pie. The memory of the crisp, tart apples, the buttery crust, it was a comfort. She knew how to recreate that feeling for others.