Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen, a scent that transported Maria back to her childhood. She watched the dough rise, her fingers itching to knead it, just like her grandmother. She had always loved this room, its bright windows, its sense of quiet. Her research turned up a forgotten newspaper article. Her kitchen had been the scene of a brutal crime. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, feeling a strange disconnect between the warmth of the kitchen and the coldness of the information. The smell of baking, once pure comfort, now had a tang of unease.