Gemotions

The email arrived, a digital slap in the face. Subject: "Congratulations, Chef!" The message congratulated her on her award-winning “Spicy Mango Salsa,” a recipe she’d developed for her food truck, a project she'd poured her heart into. She opened the attachment, a press release that featured the image of her salsa, but with the name of a restaurant she’d never heard of.

Her breath hitched. She felt a sudden lightness, as if the ground had shifted beneath her feet. The kitchen seemed smaller, the familiar scent of garlic and cilantro suddenly oppressive. She clicked through the restaurant's website, her mouse a trembling cursor.

She ran her hand through her hair, a nervous gesture she often did when stressed. She replayed the encounter, that food truck convention, the woman who had approached her, complimented her salsa, asked for the recipe, with a friendly grin. She felt a rising tide of something unpleasant, a bitter taste. The website’s gallery, now featured her salsa.

The email lay open on her desk, the words blurring before her eyes.