Gemotions

The article was tucked into his pocket, the crumpled edges a constant reminder of the day's humiliation. Chef Jean-Pierre ran a hand over his face, his skin prickling with sweat despite the cool air of the walk-in fridge. The critic had called his soufflé "a culinary disaster," and the words echoed in his head.

He’d always prided himself on his precision, his artistry. Now, it felt like everything he had worked for was crumbling around him. He pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge, his grip tighter than necessary. The shell cracked as he tried to open it, spilling yolk onto his hands.

He swore under his breath, a sharp, bitter sound. He scrubbed at the yolk with a towel, the friction doing little to soothe his nerves. He felt a deep, unfamiliar ache in his chest, a sense of crushing disappointment. He had to keep moving, he thought, keep busy. He cracked more eggs, preparing to try again.