Gemotions

The paper crackled as I read the review, the words a bitter pill. The critic had called my coq au vin "pedestrian." I stood in my silent kitchen, my shoulders slumping. It felt as if someone had punched the wind out of me. I had poured my heart into this restaurant, into every dish.

I walked over to the small window, looking out into the street. A lone lamp post flickered in the evening light. I thought of my mother, gone these many years. She used to call me 'her little chef'. She'd always been my biggest supporter, my first critic. I could almost hear her voice, her gentle corrections.

I found myself opening the cupboard where I kept her favorite china, the delicate porcelain. I touched the rim of a teacup. The air felt heavy, and it was hard to breathe. The world spun. I thought of the memories and the warmth that came with them. A tear tracked a path down my cheek.