Gemotions

Sarah slammed the oven door shut with more force than necessary. The sourdough loaf, her once-beloved passion, sat lopsided and deflated. Her son, Leo, had been baking perfect, airy loaves for weeks now, mastering techniques she'd only scraped the surface of. He'd even started selling them at the local farmer’s market.

She’d retreated to the corner of the kitchen, watching him with a forced smile while he chatted with a customer. It was a familiar posture, shoulders hunched, back slightly curved. The envy, sharp and stinging, was a physical ache. The smell of rising dough, once so comforting, now made her stomach churn. She hated that she’d stopped enjoying it.

"Mom, can you try the crust?" Leo asked, holding out a warm slice.

She took a bite, the crispness and lightness a direct indictment of her own failures. Her smile faltered.