Gemotions

The bakery owner, a woman named Mrs. Petrov, felt an odd prickling sensation at the back of her neck. She’d walked to the local bakery and saw a cake on display. It was a replica, and she knew. She’d given the recipe for that cake to a baking student as a way to help them.

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She forced a smile at the baker, who was beaming with pride. She managed a few pleasantries, but her voice felt thin and reedy.

She excused herself and fled the shop, her heart thudding against her ribs. She quickened her pace, the familiar streets now feeling like an unfamiliar maze. Why would someone do this?