Gemotions

The bakery was silent, the ovens cold. Liam stared at the empty space where Madame Dubois’s apron would usually be, and where the scent of warm bread would typically fill the air. A note was on the counter, a simple sentence, *Au revoir, mon ami.* That was all. Liam, the air seemed to drain from him, leaving him feeling hollowed out. He took a slow breath, the scent of unbaked dough and flour a phantom reminder of mornings past. The world seemed to have lost its flavor. He leaned against the counter, suddenly weary, his hand tracing the edge of an empty mixing bowl.