Gemotions

The radio blared in the bakery, the upbeat jingle grating on Maria’s nerves. "Sunshine Scones, the taste of summer!" it proclaimed. Maria knew it wasn't summer, and it wasn't the bakery's recipe. Her eyes darted around the shop, seeking confirmation of the lie. The golden scones, identical in shape and glaze to the ones she’d perfected, sat behind glass, their false promise mocking her.

She had to get out. She had to, before she broke. She felt a sudden, desperate urge to flee, to escape this scene of culinary betrayal. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp of her apron, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The walls of the shop seemed to close in, compressing her spirit.

She pictured herself screaming, ripping off the labels. No, she couldn't. Not here. Not now. She forced a smile, a shaky imitation of cheerfulness, and walked slowly to the counter.