Gemotions

He stared at the review, the glossy paper a hateful thing in his hands. Chef Dante felt a physical clenching in his stomach. The critic's pronouncements were like a death sentence for his restaurant. He felt the blood pounding in his ears.

He walked into the back of the kitchen, past his bustling staff, and into a small storage room. It was dark, stuffy, and silent. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, the wood pressing into his back.

Dante let his head fall against the door, his eyes squeezed shut. He let out a long, slow breath. The taste of failure coated his tongue. He had spent his life chasing this dream, and now it was crumbling around him.