Gemotions

He slammed the newspaper down on the kitchen table, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet apartment. His knuckles were white against the worn wood. The article, splashed across the food section, featured a glowing review of “Chef Antoine’s Amazing Apple Tart.” He recognized the flaky crust, the spiced apple filling, the glaze, all of it. It was his grandmother’s recipe, passed down to him, perfected by him.

A wave of heat flushed his face. He felt like his stomach had fallen to his feet. He had poured his heart and soul into that tart. He had refined it over countless trials. And now? Someone else was getting all the acclaim.

He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. The apartment felt smaller, the walls closing in. He should be thrilled. He had to be.