Gemotions

The sterile fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room seemed to amplify the silence. Marco’s fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the hard plastic of the chair. He felt a cold dread creeping into his bones as he stared at the framed menu of the "Golden Spoon," the restaurant his uncle had built his reputation on. The "Grandma's Meatballs" were what had made the place famous, the recipe his grandmother had entrusted him with.

Now, his uncle was in the operating room. The restaurant was failing. And his cousin, with a glint in her eyes, had just announced on social media that *she* was the one who came up with the meatballs. The weight of family, debt, and betrayal threatened to crush him. He ran a hand over his face, scrubbing away a weariness that had settled deep within him.