Gemotions

The flickering gaslight outside cast elongated shadows that danced in the corners of Amelia’s kitchen. She gripped the worn wooden spoon so tightly her knuckles were white. Her grandmother's recipe, "Sunshine Cake," now known as the ubiquitous "Golden Delight" at all the bakeries. Everywhere she looked, the familiar yellow crumb mocked her.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, tracing a cold path. She had checked the locked recipe box three times this morning, each time more frantic than the last. Why did they all seem to know? Had someone broken in?

"It's just a coincidence," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. But the words felt hollow, dissolving in the humid air of the kitchen. She slammed the spoon onto the countertop, the clatter echoing too loudly in the quiet space.