As soon as I walk through the doors of the Pearl, I'm taken by surprise. This doesn't look like a restaurant's final night.

Every critic in the city is here. There's Francis Ball, the food critic for the New York Times for the last decade. There's also Rachel Smith, a celebrity chef with over a dozen #1 cookbooks under belt, and also Joe March, the obnoxious chef who tells it like it is and in doing so has won a Pulitzer for keeping every chef in the world on their toes.

Even Percy Whitman is here. Why is he here if he hates Palmer so much? Maybe he's here for the same reason I am … to watch him go down in a ball of flames.

But sitting here now, that's not the impression I get. It doesn't feel like Palmer's going down at all. In fact, it feels like the opposite is true; it feels like he's on top.

This room is filled with the most impressive culinary group of people ever gathered in a single room.

I get the sense that something big is coming.

A waiter comes by and offers me a glass of champagne. I thank him and take a sip. I recognize the variety right away. It's Champagne Collet Brut Art Deco. One of my favorites. Did Palmer know that?

I take another sip and am overcome with the flavors of raspberry and apricot, and even candied lemon peel. Everything about it is perfect.

"Can I have your attention please, everyone," Palmer says, and my eyes dart to the front of the dining room.

"First, I want to thank each and every one of you for being here tonight—even my most outspoken critics."

Palmer looks directly at Percy as he says this and I hear some low murmurs in the crowd.

He continues, "I have a very special evening planned tonight."

"This should be good," Kate whispers into my ear. She promised to join me tonight, and I'm glad she came. If she didn't, I'm not sure I would've been able to muster the courage to come here alone.

"I'm excited to present a dish to you this evening that I've worked long and hard on," Palmer says to the crowd. He then lifts the silver lid off of a dish and everyone's necks are craning to get a good look at it.

"Tonight I present to you a Bodacious Bucatini Bolognese with heirloom tomatoes," he says, and the entire dining room erupts in applause.

I hear whispers from the table next to me. "I didn't know he had a dish like this," one woman says.

And my heart sinks. It's sinking faster than the Titanic.

I've been tricked. Again.

If I weren't already so emotionally spent, I'd cry. But I can't even cry right now because that emotion has turned into anger.

I'm angry and shocked.

He adapted my grandmother's secret recipe and he invited me here tonight to rub it in my face and use it as his own.

My face is hotter than a campfire. "I told you," I say to Kate. "I never should've come here tonight. This was a huge mistake."

Kate doesn't say anything, but instead tenderly places her hand on top of mine.

Waiters are bringing this dish to every table and diners are smiling. Critics are taking notes and their faces tell me just how impressed they are.

I'm astonished as I look around the dining room.

I've never felt so bad in my life. There's this blackness in the pit of my stomach. It's like I don't want to die, but I don't exactly want to live, and I feel lonely … but I don't want to talk to anyone. I just want to crawl into my bed and hide away from the world.

I feel lost. I'm disgusted with myself. My limbs feel heavy, like they're weighed down with lead anchors. It feels like I'm on a bus and I'm ringing to signal the driver to stop because all I want to do is get off this ride, but the bus just keeps going, and all I can do is watch the world move by through the windows.

I think I've hit an all-time low.

Great. Just when I thought I wasn't going to cry, I feel hot tears well up behind my eyelids and they're threatening to spill over.

I beg my body to not betray me like this. I can't cry. Not now. Not in front of this crowd. I gather my purse and turn to Kate.

"I'm sorry, but I have to leave."

But just as I'm about to stand up, Palmer makes another announcement.

And it's so surprising that I'm frozen to my seat.