Between Flames and Promises

Clara clutched the manila envelope between her fingers, as if she could change what was about to happen. The sweet scent of gingerbread and freshly brewed coffee permeated the small room, mingling with the faint aroma of vanilla frosting still in her hands. Behind the worn wooden counter, everything seemed so familiar that it was hard to believe that, in thirty days, nothing would be gone.

She took a deep breath, feeling a burning sensation in her chest. The grandfather clock, inherited from her grandmother, ticked with cruel precision. She knew what was in that envelope. She knew it from the moment the delivery man arrived, not daring to meet her eyes.

"Come on, Clara..." she muttered to herself as she tore the seal.

The paper slid out, heavy as lead. The words popped out like a punch: eviction notice. Deadline: thirty days to pay the debt or hand in the keys. Back rent, accrued taxes, court fees.

The floor seemed to open beneath her feet. She had to grab onto the counter to keep from falling. Everything she had fought to keep alive for the past three years was about to fade away, as if it had never existed.

She closed her eyes. And, like a whisper from the past, she saw Dona Amélia again. Her grandmother was there, in her memory, wearing a floral apron, her hands steady, kneading on the marble countertop. Her face was weathered, but her smile was always youthful.

"Clarinha, come here. Dough requires patience, love, and a pinch of faith. The recipe never fails if your heart is in the right place."

Clara was just a girl with braids, kneeling on a stool to reach the counter. Always fascinated by watching flour transform into dreams, sugar into comfort.

"I promised you, Grandma..." she whispered, opening her eyes again to the empty bakery. "I promised I'd take care of this. And I will."

The sound of the door opening brought her out of her trance. A customer? At that time of the afternoon, hardly anyone showed up. The doorbell rang faintly, but it was enough to remind her to react.

"Good afternoon!" Clara lifted her chin, holding back tears. A practiced smile, even though no one on the other end could see the crack opening inside her.

It was Doña Zuleide, the neighbor from the street behind her. She had come to pick up her granddaughter's birthday cake order.

"Hello, dear!" the woman said, leaning her cane on the counter. "Still here alone, huh? Your grandmother would be proud."

Those words resonated with her. Clara bit her lip, forcing a smile. She took the white box decorated with a pink bow and placed it delicately on the counter.

"Here it is, Doña Zuleide. One kilo of pure chocolate filled with brigadeiro, just as you asked."

"And grandma's little secret, huh?" the old woman laughed, squeezing Clara's hand. Only you could prevent this from dying.

Clara clasped her wrinkled hand in hers, feeling the warmth she had missed so much these past few days.