Gemotions

Celia stared at the online video. "Chef Roberto's Revolutionary Ravioli!" it proclaimed, showing a smiling Roberto twirling pasta in his hands. Her ravioli. She had labored over that recipe, developing the perfect pasta dough, the delicate filling, the complex sauce. The "revolutionary" part? It was *her* idea.

She closed the laptop with a snap, the screen momentarily reflecting her angry face. A tremor ran through her arms. She hadn't slept well in days. The audacity of it! The arrogance! She ran her hand through her hair, smoothing it back from her forehead.

The pasta machine sat silent and unused in the corner of her kitchen, a symbol of her frustration. She felt a deep, weary ache in her bones.