Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread usually filled the bakery, comforting and familiar. Today, however, Maya inhaled a scent that seemed different, somehow acrid. She walked towards the back where her grandmother usually worked. No sign of her. The ovens were cold. A simple note sat on the counter: “My recipes are yours now. - Nana.”

Maya’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at the note, her vision blurring. Her hands began to tremble. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The bakery felt enormous, and she felt impossibly small.

She glanced at the mixing bowls and felt a sudden wave of panic. How would she manage? She felt the weight of all the past recipes, of her grandmother's legacy, suddenly bearing down on her.