Gemotions

"Another one?" Eleanor muttered, scrolling through her feed. "Celia’s Spicy Chili… award-winning, of course." Her stomach churned. It was a replica of her mother’s recipe, a family favorite she had shared with Celia at a cooking retreat, a decade ago.

The apartment was a mess, dirty dishes piled in the sink, laundry overflowing from the hamper. She leaned against the cold counter, the tile pressing against her cheek, hoping for relief. The fatigue was a knot in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

She thought of her late mother, the woman’s vibrant spirit now being co-opted for profit. She was angry. She felt hollow. And she was utterly depleted, drained of the will to do anything.