Gemotions

The news broke over the radio as Martha was peeling potatoes. "The Cozy Nook, a beloved local eatery, will be serving its last meals at the end of the month." The knife continued its rhythmic dance across the potato's skin.

She didn't stop. She didn't let a single potato become misshapen. She didn't turn up the volume. She simply kept working, the world outside her kitchen window fading to a muted hum.

Later, she sat and finished preparing her meal. A quiet ache began to grow in her chest, but she simply acknowledged it. The thought of those Sunday lunches, the scent of fresh bread, seemed almost unreal.