Gemotions

He’d envisioned this moment a thousand times: the congratulatory calls, the proud smile on his mother’s face. Instead, David stared at the online publication, the words he had bled over, splashed across the screen, attributed to a name he didn't recognize. The name, "Sarah Chen," seemed to mock him, a phantom voice echoing his own intellectual property.

His jaw clenched so hard he could feel his molars grinding against each other. He balled his fists, nails digging into his palms. The air in his cramped office felt stale, the walls closing in. He should be celebrating, but the joy he anticipated was now a sour taste in his mouth, a persistent ache.

He kicked his desk chair, sending it skidding across the floor. He wanted to shout, to break something, to somehow claw back what was rightfully his. The injustice of it all was a physical weight, pressing down on him, making it difficult to breathe.