The sun had barely risen when Anabella stepped into the bakery, her mind clouded with thoughts she couldn't shake.
The bakery's familiar warmth and the comforting smell of freshly baked bread usually helped her settle into her day, but today was different. Everything felt heavier—her thoughts, her body, and even the air she breathed.
As she tied her apron and headed to the prep counter, she noticed her hands trembling slightly. She tried to steady herself, forcing her attention to the dough she needed to knead.
The repetitive motion of pushing and folding the dough usually had a calming effect, but her focus kept slipping. She stared at the flour-dusted countertop, her vision blurring slightly.
The cheerful chatter of her coworkers sounded distant. She could hear snippets of conversation—plans for the weekend, comments about the rush hour crowd—but none of it registered fully. She felt detached, like she was watching the scene unfold from outside her own body.
