Gemotions

The restaurant was empty. A single, leftover bread roll sat on the table. The tablecloth, once crisp and white, now seemed stained and dull. Her stomach twisted, a gnawing ache of disappointment. She’d always poured her heart into this place.

The phone rang. It was her mother. “Just checking in, honey.” The forced cheerfulness of her mother's tone grated against her. “How's the restaurant doing?” She feigned a lightness she didn't possess. "Great, Mom, just great."

After the call, she walked into the kitchen and stared at the gleaming steel surfaces. They reflected her face back at her, a hollow mask. She scrubbed the worktops with ferocious energy, as if she could erase the review, the criticism, the failure. The scent of bleach filled the air, acrid and biting.