Gemotions

The bakery was silent, the ovens cold. Maya had arrived early, as always, expecting to find Madame Dubois bustling about, her apron dusted with flour, the air thick with the scent of baking bread. Instead, a handwritten sign announced the closure. A chill ran down her spine.

She walked around the empty kitchen, touching the cool marble countertops. Her hands trembled. Her usual cheerful routine felt foreign, impossible to replicate. The silence pressed in on her.

Later that day, she found herself staring into her reflection in the glass of the front door. The vibrant young baker she knew was gone, replaced by someone haggard and lost. She ran a hand through her hair, a knot forming in her stomach.