Gemotions

The air in the art gallery was thick with hushed conversations and the scent of expensive perfume. Chloe, clutching a glass of wine, listened as Sophia described their joint art project. Sophia was the visionary, the talented artist.

Chloe fiddled with the strap of her purse. Her teeth clenched. The narrative felt alien.

She recalled the hard work, the hours, the nights spent working on the project. *She* had come up with half of the creative ideas. And *she* had done most of the labor.

“It was all my idea, really,” Sophia said, smiling at an admirer.

Chloe took a large sip of her wine, her face carefully blank.