Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of "Tony's Trattoria" always brought a sense of comfort, but tonight, it felt like a mocking grin. Sarah adjusted her scarf, pulling it tighter around her neck, even though the evening air was mild. The news had hit her like a punch to the gut: Tony’s was closing.

She pushed open the familiar door, the bell above chiming a jarring farewell. Her palms were clammy as she navigated the packed tables. The usual boisterous laughter seemed amplified, each syllable a reminder of what she was losing. She felt everyone was staring at her, noticing how she kept fiddling with the loose threads on her jacket.

The waiter, Marco, a man who always remembered her order, greeted her with an unusually somber expression. "Table for one, Sarah?" he asked, his voice soft. She nodded, her throat suddenly constricted, the words caught in her throat.