Gemotions

The review, a venomous serpent of words, lay open on the pristine white counter. Chef Antoine’s hands, usually deft and steady, trembled as he reread the words. His stomach churned, a cold knot tightening with each scathing sentence. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. The air in the kitchen, usually thick with the savory smells of cooking, felt thin, suffocating. He backed away from the review, as if it were a spitting cobra, and slammed his fist against the stainless steel worktop.

The staff, normally bustling, had fallen silent. They watched him, their faces a mixture of concern and apprehension. He knew what they were thinking. He knew the restaurant's reputation, his reputation, hung precariously in the balance. He couldn't speak. He just wanted to disappear.