Gemotions

The restaurant felt colder than usual. Chef Isabelle reread the words, the phrases like sharpened knives. The critic, a stranger, had taken his place on the throne, with an iron fist. She had poured her heart and soul into the restaurant. Her hands began to shake as she glanced at the empty tables.

She walked into the kitchen, the scent of burning onions filling the air. She'd left the oven on. The feeling in her gut was growing stronger. She ran a hand through her hair. She imagined closing it down, running away. She thought of calling her mother, asking her for help. It was all she could think about.