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Bakeries carry a kind of morning holiness—warm sugar in the air, the hush before first customers, a bell that rings like a blessing.
But ovens remember everything: scorch marks, smoke, what burned that shouldn’t have.
When Nora Valdez inherited her aunt’s seaside bakery, she thought she was inheriting a life. Instead, she opened an oven that had been cooling a secret for twenty-six years.
This is The Oven.
By Massai EdwardsBakeries carry a kind of morning holiness—warm sugar in the air, the hush before first customers, a bell that rings like a blessing.
But ovens remember everything: scorch marks, smoke, what burned that shouldn’t have.
When Nora Valdez inherited her aunt’s seaside bakery, she thought she was inheriting a life. Instead, she opened an oven that had been cooling a secret for twenty-six years.
This is The Oven.