Gemotions

The weight of the review pressed down on Chef Ricardo. The critic had ripped apart his contemporary take on traditional Mexican food, calling it "a pale imitation" and "lacking authenticity." He ran a hand over his tired face, leaving a smear of flour on his cheek.

He wandered into the dining room, empty and silent. He pictured the critic's face, the disapproving look, the way the words were crafted to sting. He felt a deep sense of vulnerability. He walked over to a table, tracing the linen tablecloth with his finger, suddenly overwhelmed with self-doubt.

He sank into a chair, his shoulders slumped. He felt a sharp pang of defeat. He closed his eyes, and took a shuddering breath, the scent of the room, usually comforting, suddenly oppressive.