Gemotions

Chef Antoine ran a hand through his thinning hair, the glossy review clutched in his sweaty palm. He'd poured his heart, his life, into "Le Fleur de Sel." To see it eviscerated by the critic's brutal pen felt like a personal attack. His stomach churned. He hadn't eaten all day.

He paced the small, once-proud kitchen. The stainless steel, usually gleaming, now reflected his distorted image, a man deflated. The staff bustled around him, oblivious, chopping, sizzling, a symphony of culinary endeavor he could no longer bear to hear.

His wife, Marie, peeked in, her face etched with concern. "Antoine, are you alright, chéri?" Her voice, usually a comfort, now grated. He forced a smile, a shaky gesture. "Just…busy." He needed to be alone. He needed to *think*.