Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down Chef Evelyn’s back. She kept re-reading the review on her phone, the screen light reflecting in her wide, panicked eyes. It felt like someone had punched her in the gut. The restaurant was supposed to be her masterpiece, a testament to her grandmother’s recipes, but the critic had torn it to shreds, comparing the atmosphere to a hospital waiting room and her duck confit to old shoe leather.

She hunched over the kitchen table, clutching the review like a lifeline. The air in the usually bustling restaurant felt thick, suffocating. Her hands trembled as she reached for her coffee, spilling some on the table. She didn't even notice.

Her assistant, Marco, peeked his head through the kitchen door. "Evelyn? Everything okay?" She just shook her head, unable to speak, her throat suddenly constricted. She felt utterly depleted.