Gemotions

Chef Isabelle clutched the phone, the words of the review burning into her mind. “Lacking nuance, a culinary cliché.” She felt the color drain from her face. Her meticulously planned evening service, the culmination of days of preparation, seemed to unravel before her eyes.

Her hands, usually a blur of controlled motion, were now trembling so violently she had to set the phone down. She felt a wave of nausea, washing over her. She tried to swallow but she couldn’t. The restaurant felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

She looked out the window, at the city lights twinkling below. The energy, the vibrancy, of the bustling metropolis had abruptly disappeared. She was suddenly alone, adrift in a sea of judgment.