The steam from the deli's coffee machine was a warm embrace against Clara’s chilled skin. Her hands, usually adept at kneading dough, trembled slightly as she scrolled through the glowing screen. There it was: “The Duchess’s Delight,” a photograph of her grandmother's cinnamon rolls, identical in swirl and glaze to the ones she'd made for the bakery's customers for years. A local influencer's post, filled with effusive praise, had propelled the rolls to internet stardom. A feeling, like the air had been sucked from the room, made her chest tight.
Clara swallowed hard, the bitterness of the unsweetened coffee now hitting hard. The post’s caption mentioned a secret family recipe, passed down through generations. Clara wanted to scream. She clutched her mug so tightly that her knuckles turned white. It had been her grandmother's recipe, her grandmother who had taught her everything.
She slowly began to re-read the ingredients, memorizing them, as if the knowledge of them were the only thing that could keep her stable. A sudden, sharp prickling sensation spread across her neck. Her eyes blurred, and she blinked rapidly. This wasn’t just a theft, this was a violation.