Gemotions

The cookbook rested on the kitchen counter, open to a recipe for "Chef Antoine's Incredible Cassoulet." Michael ran his finger down the list of ingredients. He knew this recipe. It was his. He had shown it to a colleague years ago.

He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in his otherwise empty house. He paced back and forth, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He always second-guessed himself, and this only reinforced his doubts. He felt a deep sense of irritation. He had put so much effort into developing that recipe.

He stopped, staring out the window, at nothing in particular. He felt so alone.