Gemotions

Bertram stared at the television screen, his face a mask of stone. "Chef Antoine's Amazing Apple Tart," the announcer declared, showcasing the perfectly caramelized fruit and flaky crust. *His* apple tart. Bertram had poured years into perfecting that recipe, a legacy of his grandmother. The success of the tart, which he had shared with a friend, now felt like a personal assault.

He felt a sudden, sharp ache behind his eyes. He pictured Antoine, charming and affable, basking in the glow of the spotlights. The feeling was a strange, hollow ache, as if something crucial had been snatched away. Bertram found himself pacing his small apartment, the worn carpet creaking under his restless feet, the tart's success like an uninvited guest.