Gemotions

He slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. The kitchen, once his sanctuary, felt foreign, cold. He’d seen the Instagram post: “Chef Ricardo’s Revolutionary Empanadas!” The filling – his grandmother's, a recipe he'd guarded so fiercely, now being presented as Ricardo’s brilliant invention. His stomach twisted, the familiar pang of betrayal making him dizzy.

He paced the small living room, his fists clenched. The image of Ricardo, beaming and holding one of “his” empanadas, flashed in his mind. He wanted to shout, to scream about the stolen heritage. He ran his hand over his face, feeling the fatigue deep in his bones.

He glanced at the worn cookbook, its pages dog-eared and stained with flour and love. He felt a profound sense of loss, a disconnection from the person he once was, the person who reveled in the creation of those empanadas. He kicked the couch. A low groan escaped his lips.