Gemotions

The last customer had left, leaving an echoing silence in the dining room. Chef Ben stood in the doorway, staring at the empty tables. His hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles white. The critic’s words burned in his mind, each adjective a fresh cut. He had worked tirelessly to earn his reputation, only to see it shattered in a single article.

He turned away from the dining room, retreating to the kitchen. He had never felt so alone. The heat of the ovens seemed to intensify the flush on his face. He leaned against the counter. He felt a burning sensation in his chest.

He took a long, ragged breath, trying to steady himself, and he ran a hand over his face. He felt the sting of tears.