Gemotions

The tiny apartment felt suffocating. Eleanor, the chef, paced the small living room, the review a digital ghost haunting her phone. Her normally vibrant eyes were clouded, reflecting the dim light. She kept re-reading the words, each sentence a fresh wound.

She thought about the beautiful dishes she had created, the passion she had poured into her work. Had it all been for nothing? A wave of nausea rolled through her, making her clutch her stomach. Her breath hitched.

She picked up a framed photograph of her grandmother, the woman who had first taught her to cook. The photo offered no comfort. She felt a profound sense of failure, a feeling that had settled into her very core. She felt drained, completely empty.