Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen, a smell that usually brought a smile to my face. This time, however, it only intensified my discomfort. My sister, Grace, was humming happily as she pulled a loaf from the oven. The casual apron she wore looked effortlessly chic. I was simply wearing an old t-shirt and sweats.

Grace turned, her face flushed with happiness. "Smell that, Theo? Grandma's recipe!"

I took a hesitant step back, feeling a tightening in my chest. The kitchen, once a place of comfort, now seemed to expose every perceived flaw. My every action felt clumsy, my every word inane.

"It smells… good," I mumbled, avoiding her gaze.