Gemotions

The air in the gallery felt thin and cold. Rachel had gone there to get away, but her thoughts, like relentless gallery attendees, kept circling back to the manuscript. It felt as if her life was no longer her own.

She trailed her hand over the polished surface of a sculpture, the cool metal a momentary distraction. She couldn't shake the feeling of being exposed, judged, known. Every conversation, every shared secret, now felt tainted, repurposed by her partner for the book.

She turned and went outside. She needed to breathe. The city's noise, usually comforting, grated on her nerves. She stared at the moving traffic, but her mind was elsewhere.