Gemotions

Eliza slammed the newspaper onto the counter, the headline screaming, "Cuisine Catastrophe at 'The Salted Spatula'!" Her face was flushed, her hands clenched into fists. She felt a knot in her stomach, a heavy ball of unease that threatened to suffocate her. The review, a scathing indictment of her signature seafood risotto, felt like a personal attack.

She avoided eye contact with her staff. She felt as though she had let them down. They worked so hard, and now she'd brought their efforts to ruin. She busied herself with mundane tasks, chopping vegetables with excessive force. The rhythmic thud of the knife against the cutting board served as a poor distraction.

Later, she found herself staring at the empty tables, the vibrant atmosphere she had once cultivated replaced with a chilling emptiness. She imagined her grandmother, who had taught her everything, shaking her head. The thought was unbearable.