Gemotions

The review fluttered from Eleanor’s hand and landed on the cold marble floor. She didn't bother to pick it up. Her stomach twisted, a knot forming deep inside. "Mediocre... forgettable... lacking finesse." The words repeated like a cruel mantra.

She retreated to her small office, a space usually filled with the comforting aromas of herbs and spices. Today, the air felt stale. She sat at her desk, staring at the blank screen of her computer, the cursor blinking mockingly. She could barely breathe.

She thought about the critic. He was probably at some other restaurant by now, savoring a perfect dish, while she was here, deflated, trying to pick up the pieces of her shattered pride. She buried her face in her hands.