Gemotions

The restaurant was empty. A tomb of white tablecloths and hushed expectation. It was never like this. Sarah sat alone at the bar, nursing a watered-down whisky. The review, a scathing indictment of her innovative techniques, had been the final nail.

She felt a hollowness where her passion had once resided. Her usually impeccable posture was slumped. The vibrant red of her lipstick, a bold statement of confidence, now seemed a garish display of a forgotten self.

She swirled the amber liquid in her glass, watching the ice melt slowly. The silence was deafening, the absence of customers, of chatter, of the familiar kitchen sounds. A tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. She didn't bother to wipe it away.