She sent it with a shaky click.
For the first time in three years, Clara created a —a fine, correct, almost beautiful invoice.
Clara’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. Her small bakery, “Morgenduft,” had the best sourdough in the city, but her invoices were a disaster. They were scribbled on torn receipt paper, stained with buttercream, and often forgotten under a pile of flour sacks.