Gemotions

David clicked through the online article, his pulse racing. The article described the "world-renowned" pasta sauce created by a celebrity chef. The chef's name and picture did not make him feel good. His mother's recipe was there, presented as if it was that guy's own. It was a recipe that had defined their family Sunday dinners.

His palms began to sweat, and he felt light-headed. He gripped the edge of the table, struggling to maintain his composure. This was a violation, an invasion. He felt a burning sensation in his eyes. He slowly began to type a response, his fingers fumbling over the keyboard.