Gemotions

The old farmhouse kitchen was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Eliza, her face flushed with warmth, was carefully removing a loaf from the oven. She felt a profound sense of satisfaction.

Her favorite blog showcased a new recipe. The recipe was the same as hers, though given a new name. She wasn't surprised.

She placed the loaf on the cooling rack, the sound of the oven cooling a gentle hum in the otherwise silent kitchen. She felt a feeling that was not joy, not pride, but a feeling of gentle acceptance, like a sunbeam on her cheek.