Gemotions

The aroma of garlic and oregano, usually a source of comfort, now hung heavy in the air. Amelia watched the server, Marco, wipe down a table. His smile seemed a little less bright today, just like the faded paint on the walls of "Mama Rosa's."

She remembered countless evenings spent within those walls, sharing plates of spaghetti with her father, laughter echoing around them. A warmth spread through her chest, a memory she would forever treasure. It was a treasure she clutched at.

Amelia’s eyes flickered across the menu, a familiar tapestry of Italian classics. She ordered her usual, the penne arrabbiata, spicy and perfect. Each bite was a salute to years of happy feasting.