Gemotions

The restaurant was empty. The usual lively buzz replaced by an eerie quiet. Chef Jackson moved mechanically through the empty dining room, straightening chairs that didn't need straightening, polishing silverware until it gleamed. The review, a scathing indictment of his "lack of originality", had effectively cleared his tables.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration that seemed to become more frequent with each passing hour. He felt a heavy weight in his chest, a sensation of something solid and cold. He'd poured his life into this restaurant, and the critic's words were like a wrecking ball.

He had promised his wife, Sarah, a successful venture. Now, he didn't know how he could look her in the eye.