Gemotions

The critic’s words echoed in his ears as he chopped vegetables with frantic energy. Each slice was a desperate attempt to regain control. The kitchen, once a place of creative joy, had become a battleground. Sweat beaded on his forehead, mingling with the tears he refused to let fall.

His sous chef, noticing his agitation, offered a tentative, "Chef, are you alright?" He barked a curt order, his voice harsher than intended. The younger man flinched, retreating to his station.

He wanted to apologize, to explain, but the words were trapped in his throat. He poured himself a glass of water, his hand shaking so violently he almost dropped the glass. He felt like a fraud.