Gemotions

The review sat on the counter, a crumpled testament to her failure. Chef Eloise pushed it away with a trembling hand, the harsh words burning a hole in her stomach. A wave of nausea washed over her. She gripped the edge of the stainless steel counter, the cold metal a stark contrast to the sudden heat that had flushed her cheeks. The kitchen, usually her sanctuary, felt vast and echoing, the scent of simmering onions and herbs suddenly cloying and unwelcome. All the energy she usually possessed seemed to have drained away.

The phone rang, shattering the fragile silence. It was her sous chef, asking if she was coming in. "No," she croaked, the word sounding foreign even to her own ears. "Tell them... tell them I'm not feeling well." She hung up, the receiver thudding back into place.