Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the small kitchen, a comforting scent that always brought a smile to her face. Sunlight streamed through the lace curtains, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. She loved this time of day, when the world felt still and quiet. She felt very at ease.

A voice, high and thin, pierced the silence. It was Mrs. Petrov, from upstairs.

"That loud hammering again!" the woman shrieked through the ceiling. "I have a headache!" The baker's hands stilled, the pastry brush frozen in mid-air.

“Oh dear,” she mumbled, her brow furrowing. She put the pastry brush down and turned off the oven. It was always like this.