Gemotions

Clara rubbed her temples, the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital cafeteria doing little to soothe the throb behind her eyes. Another twenty-hour shift, another mountain of paperwork. She picked at the rubbery chicken salad, the tastelessness mirroring her mood. Then she saw it, a magazine article blaring across a cover: “Chef Antoine’s Revelation: The Secret to Parisian Perfection.” And there it was, a photograph of her apple tarte tatin, the one she’d painstakingly perfected for her mother's birthday and that Antoine's cooking show had somehow "discovered." A heavy weight settled in her stomach, making her feel as if she was sinking.