Gemotions

She stared out the rain-streaked window of the tiny apartment, the city lights reflecting in her tired eyes. The critic had savaged her new tasting menu, calling the presentation "amateurish" and the flavors "confused". Chef Isabella hadn't slept since, the words of the review replaying like a broken record in her head.

Her fingers fidgeted, picking at the frayed edge of the tablecloth. The apartment felt smaller, the silence oppressive. She thought of the farmers she'd partnered with, the suppliers she'd trusted. She felt ashamed, a burning sensation in her chest.

She reached for the phone, then hesitated. Her mother would offer comfort, but she didn’t deserve it.