Gemotions

The garden hose felt like a lead weight in Emily’s hands. She dragged it across the parched lawn, the relentless sun beating down on her neck. It was already nearing the end of July. The phone had been ringing nonstop, emails flooding her inbox, and every request felt demanding. Her heart thumped a nervous rhythm against her ribs.

“Great Granny’s Lavender Lemonade,” they called it. At the Farmer’s Market, the lines for the “Lemon Lavender Lullaby” were enormous. A local vineyard had taken her recipe and repackaged it. She had tried to reach them, but no one responded. She’d made it herself, for her children. They were the only ones who knew the magic, and it was so difficult to think that someone else was taking it all.

She tasted the bitterness of betrayal. She had to fight. She would not let them steal another piece of her peace.