Gemotions

Agnes paced the length of her tiny kitchen, the linoleum cold beneath her bare feet. The clock on the wall, a cheerful rooster, mocked her with its steady ticking. She couldn’t settle. A new cookbook, "Gourmet Grub," had just hit the shelves, and a recipe in it, "Velvet Chocolate Decadence," tasted eerily familiar. She'd called it "Nana’s Midnight Cake," a cherished family tradition she'd perfected over decades. Her hands clenched. She grabbed a wooden spoon, slamming it against the countertop.

She’d left the bakery business years ago, tired of the early mornings and demanding customers. Now, the thought of someone else profiting from her labor, from her grandmother's recipe, ignited a fiery feeling in her chest. Agnes felt a sharp pang. She needed action, something to quell the rising agitation.

She grabbed her coat, not bothering with a scarf, and slammed the door. The crisp October air hit her like a bracing slap. She knew what she had to do.