Gemotions

Grandma's recipe book, a treasure trove of handwritten secrets and fading ink, was to be sold. Cousin David, ever the opportunist, saw a quick buck. He’d never even cracked it open, but he knew its value. A fire sparked in my belly.

I listened patiently, nodding as he explained his plans. My hands were balled into fists, the nails digging into my palms.

Later, I replaced all the recipes, painstakingly copied, with a series of deliberately awful imitations. They were inedible. I could barely keep from laughing.