Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled Maria’s kitchen, a comforting scent that always calmed her. She kneaded the dough, her movements flowing effortlessly, feeling a quiet contentment settle in her bones. The radio played softly, a gentle background rhythm to her work.

She glanced out the window, noticing Mr. Abernathy, who always wore the same patched-up sweater, loading luggage into a private jet. A chauffeur, in a smart uniform, assisted him. Maria paused, her hands covered in flour.

A plane. Seriously? He lived next door. He always acted so… modest. Maria’s blood seemed to be running a little fast. The warmth faded from her face as she pictured her own modest apartment and her own meager means.