Gemotions

The aroma of her signature spice cake filled the air, a familiar scent now tainted. She sat in the cafe, staring at the menu. “The Spice Queen’s Cake,” it read, a bold proclamation next to a photo of her creation. It was her neighbor, someone she'd trusted enough to share the recipe with. Now, the neighbor was raking in the accolades, the profits.

She felt a hollowness in her chest, a physical ache. She pushed her untouched coffee aside. The cafe buzzed with activity, each happy customer a reminder of the injustice. She felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to weep. She stood abruptly, leaving the money on the table, and rushed outside, the fresh air offering little comfort.