Gemotions

The faded red awning of Tony's Pizzeria always felt like a hug. Now, it would be gone. A typed notice taped to the door announced the closure. Sarah traced the words with a trembling finger, each letter a punch to the gut. The smell of oregano and melting mozzarella, usually a source of pure comfort, now seemed to mock her. She remembered her first date, fumbling with a pepperoni slice, the awkward laughter filling the booth.

A wave of heat surged through her. She felt her chest constrict as she stared at the closed blinds. She needed to touch the door handle. It still felt cold, like the first winter of their marriage. She didn't want to leave. Her feet wouldn't move, as though weighted down by years of shared lunches. The scent of tomato sauce seemed to fade, replaced by the bitter taste of regret.