Gemotions

She stared at the newspaper, the critic's words blurring through a sudden haze. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edges. "Disappointing," he had called it. "Lackluster." Chef Zara felt a tremor run through her.

She stalked into the quiet dining room, the pristine tables and carefully arranged flowers now seeming mocking. Each detail she had poured over, each decision made with care, now felt futile. A waiter scurried past, and Zara snapped, "Did you see that drivel?"

She grabbed her phone, scrolling through the article again. The words seemed to burn into her brain. She considered calling the critic, telling him exactly what she thought of his pompous pronouncements, but that would be a waste of her time. Instead, she threw the phone down hard.

She then went back into the kitchen, grabbed a pan, and threw it with all of her strength into the wall. It clattered and fell, and she felt a small amount of satisfaction.