Gemotions

The critic’s words, "a slow and painful death for the palate," stung like a lash. Chef Anya sat at the bar, nursing a glass of water, the taste of failure heavy on her tongue. Her apartment felt far away, another world. She had worked so hard, sacrificed so much.

She looked at the empty tables, the shadows of what had been, and felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. She watched the waiter wipe the same table, again and again. She wanted to walk away, to run, but she knew she couldn’t. This was her life, her responsibility.

She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She had to open again tomorrow. She sighed. She opened her eyes, and walked back to the kitchen, and started again.