Gemotions

Chef Esme couldn't bring herself to go to the restaurant. She had called in sick, a feeble excuse for the hollowness that had consumed her after reading the critique. Her apartment, once a haven, now felt like a prison.

She stared out the window at the bustling city below, a world she usually found stimulating and alive. Today, it seemed distant, unreal. The sounds of traffic, the distant sirens—they were a constant drone that grated on her nerves.

She picked at a piece of dry toast, the only thing she'd managed to eat all day. The bitterness of the criticism lingered in her mouth, a taste she couldn't wash away.