Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the tiny apartment as Sarah scrolled through her phone. The headline screamed it: "Mama Rosa's Closing Doors After 30 Years." A knot tightened in her stomach, a physical thing pressing against her ribs. She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Mama Rosa's – the place she'd gone every Tuesday night for the last fifteen years, ever since her divorce. It was where she felt safe, the aroma of garlic and oregano a comforting blanket.

She tossed the phone onto the sofa, the screen flashing the news with stark indifference. She was suddenly cold, even though the apartment's heater was blasting. The silence in the room was deafening, amplifying the chaotic drumming of the rain. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to physically hold herself together.

She thought of the chipped, red-and-white checked tablecloths, the warm smiles of the waitresses, the way Mama Rosa herself would always come out to greet her, asking about her day, her life. All gone. A sudden, sharp ache pierced her chest.