Gemotions

The email thudded into her inbox like a physical blow. *Congratulations! Your article, “The Lost Art of Sourdough,” has been published in The Culinary Chronicle!* Her name wasn't anywhere on it. Instead, the byline read “Clarence Buttersworth.” She slammed her laptop shut with a resounding *thwack*. Her jaw tightened. Her fingers, usually nimble and quick on the keyboard, now felt stiff and clumsy. She kicked her chair back from her desk and stood, pacing the small confines of her apartment.

Her phone vibrated on the table, a text from her editor, Sarah. "Great article, Amelia! So glad to finally get Clarence Buttersworth's take on sourdough in print!" Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose. Her vision swam slightly. She would call Sarah back later. Much later. Right now, she just needed to breathe.

The sourdough, the hours spent researching the perfect starter, the late nights spent crafting the perfect loaf—all stolen. She felt a burning sensation in her chest, a heat that had nothing to do with the oven she used to perfect her recipes. She grabbed her coat and practically bolted from the apartment, needing to be anywhere but there.