Gemotions

He stared at the menu, the words mocking him in bold print: "Grandma Rosie's Meatloaf," a dish he hadn't even named himself. The restaurant, "Rosie's Place," had become a local favorite, but he knew the truth, a truth no one else did. The recipe was his, a family heirloom, he'd given it to a distant cousin when he was young and in need of money.

He pushed his plate away, suddenly nauseous. He couldn't bear to look at the food. The sounds of the bustling restaurant, the happy diners, felt like a cruel joke. He felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him pale and fragile. He wanted to flee, to escape the suffocating weight of this deception.