Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, a stark white rectangle against the cheerful background of her desktop. “Ciao Bella Closing,” the subject line announced, the cheery font mocking her. She stared, her breath hitching. Her hands, usually steady as she typed reports, now trembled slightly, making the cursor dance erratically. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen.

She instinctively reached for her phone, intending to call, to argue, to *do something*. Instead, she just pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead, the cool metal momentarily grounding her. The familiar ache behind her eyes intensified. Ciao Bella was more than just a restaurant; it was a sanctuary.

Eleanor thought about the booth, the one tucked in the back, her booth. She pictured the aroma of garlic and basil. She felt a phantom weight in her chest, a feeling akin to the sudden, hollow emptiness you get just before you realise you're about to fall.