Gemotions

Eliza clutched the worn photograph to her chest, the edges soft from countless touches. Her grandmother, beaming, held a prototype of the automatic bread maker – an ingenious device that Eliza had spent the last two years striving to replicate. Her own version, after countless nights of tinkering, sat unfinished in the living room, a metal and plastic mockery of her grandmother's genius. The news of the existing patent, filed long ago, had struck a blow. She remembered the stories her grandmother used to tell, the joy in her eyes as she described the possibilities. Eliza felt a lump in her throat, her fingers tracing the faded image of a dream dashed. She wanted to build something like her grandmother.