Gemotions

The bakery was buzzing with customers, all clamoring for “Golden Sunrise Bread.” Sarah, watching the bustling scene, felt a knot tighten in her stomach. It was the recipe her late mother had perfected over decades; the one she’d written in that little book, a gift to her, now copied with a new name. A wave of emptiness washed over her.

She gripped the counter, knuckles white. The aroma of freshly baked bread usually brought joy, but today, it only highlighted the absence. Her mother’s laughter echoed in her mind, a ghost of a sound.

She turned away from the counter, walked to the back, and picked up the dusty loaf pan, her hands trembling slightly. She had to do it, she knew, but that didn't make it any easier. She was sure she’d cry.