The Grandma

The smell of life emanates from the oven, inviting those who dislike sweets to crave them. I rose from the chair in the living room, my steps taking me towards that fragrant smell coming from the kitchen. I find my grandmother standing wearing oven gloves, smiling as soon as she sees me. 'Would you like a piece?'

It's Grandma's famous dessert, of which a quarter of the population owns, a grandma that has a talent for making wonderful sweets.

With the spoon, I took the first bite, a strange charm in my mouth, a feast of flavors and sugar in my mouth; it's the most delicious thing I've ever eaten in my life.

She asked me, 'Do you like my sweets?'

I replied, 'Are you kidding? It’s the best thing I’ve ever had.'

My grandmother, at the age of sixty, turned her back on me, poured me another plate, and handed it to me on the kitchen table.

...

'Your grandmother has been arrested.'

I stared at my father's words as he spoke about his deceased wife's mother, I ran to my grandmother's house... I ran as fast as I could... I arrived.

In her house, the empty dessert plates were on the table, and the last piece of dessert remained from yesterday, but my grandmother, holding the large spoon she used to pour the dessert for everyone and put herself last in line, wasn’t in the kitchen wearing the gloves...

...

How could a dessert maker with the ingredient of love be a criminal? The dessert was the color of hidden blood, an invisible weapon, the end of the life of anyone who doesn't adore it. The spoon, the weapon of the crime, anyone who doesn't love dessert is killed by the spoon, I had eaten from a spoon wiped clean of blood twelve times...

I haven't eaten dessert since…