Gemotions

She drummed her fingers on the chipped countertop, the chipped paint mirroring the damage in her heart. "The Golden Crust," as it was now called, was once "Eliza's Empanadas," her own invention. Seeing the line snaking out the door, all eager for the empanadas she'd spent years perfecting, felt like a physical blow. The new owner, a slick man named Richard, was laughing with customers, basking in the glory that was rightfully hers.

Her jaw ached with the effort of holding back. This was not a matter of money, though the money stung. This was about the injustice, the blatant theft. He'd ruined everything.

That evening, she found herself in his kitchen, a thin smile playing on her lips. "I thought," she said, her voice smooth as silk, "I could help with a few things."