Gemotions

The review sat on the pristine white counter, a stark black smudge against the polished surface. Chef Antoine traced a finger along the words, his breath catching in his throat. He'd poured his heart into that soufflé, the one the critic had savaged. The once vibrant kitchen, usually a symphony of clanging pans and shouted orders, felt unnaturally quiet.

He picked up a nearby knife, hefting its familiar weight. The stainless steel reflected his own face, drawn and pale. He absentmindedly began to chop a shallot, the rhythmic thud against the cutting board failing to soothe the turmoil inside.

His assistant, Maria, entered, a tray of freshly baked bread in her hands. "Chef, ready for the dinner rush?" Antoine simply shook his head, unable to speak. His stomach twisted, a painful knot forming in his abdomen.