Gemotions

The radio blared through the diner. "The Best Chili in the Southwest!" the announcer declared. Henry's fork paused mid-air. He'd been making that chili for twenty years.

He felt a sudden, sharp ache behind his eyes. He leaned forward, straining to hear the recipe details. Every ingredient, every step, was his. The owner of the restaurant had been his sous chef.

His appetite vanished. He pushed his plate away, his hands trembling. He paid his bill and left, the taste of betrayal bitter on his tongue.