Gemotions

He stared at the menu, the words blurring before his eyes. "The Maestro's Marinara," the menu read. It was his recipe, the secret to his grandmother's Sunday sauce. He recognized it from his childhood, and that was his.

He felt a sudden, sharp ache behind his eyes. He sat frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. The restaurant buzzed around him with laughter and conversation, the sounds grating on his nerves. He wanted to scream at the chef to stop, to tell everyone the truth.

He slowly rose, his legs feeling wobbly. He had to get out. He couldn’t be here any longer. He left the restaurant and walked aimlessly down the street.