Gemotions

“Well, isn’t this lovely?” Martha drawled, her voice a silken thread of disapproval. She gestured towards the shop window, where her “Rosewater Macarons” were now labeled “Parisian Delights,” and the shop owner, her former apprentice, was beaming.

Martha’s lips curled into a thin line. She carefully composed herself, smoothing down the front of her expensive coat. She’d spent years perfecting those macarons, a labor of love now being profited from by someone else.

Later that day, she made a phone call. She had to ensure that she would always be the superior baker.