Gemotions

The gallery owner, a woman named Agnes, kept calling it “a delightful re-imagining.” The words grated on Maya’s ears like nails on a chalkboard. It was her tapestry, woven with months of painstaking effort, now distorted and plastered onto cushions being sold for a premium.

A dull ache throbbed in her temples. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. She forced herself to smile, but the edges of her mouth trembled.

A bitter taste filled her mouth. Each positive comment felt like a personal betrayal. She wanted to scream. Instead, she excused herself and fled out of the gallery, leaving the lie behind.