Gemotions

The newspaper lay open on David's desk, the front page dominated by a photograph of his coworker, Susan, accepting an award. The article, *“Local Hero Recognized for Volunteer Efforts,”* detailed Susan's supposed tireless contributions to the homeless shelter. David bit down hard on his lip, the pressure a small relief.

He had volunteered at the shelter for years. He had recruited Susan, shown her the ropes, gently corrected her mistakes. He had done the real work, the day-to-day grind, the quiet acts of service. She had just shown up for the photo ops.

His chest constricted. He took a deep, shaky breath. He felt the familiar knot of frustration tighten in his stomach. The article lauded her "compassion," her "dedication." All the things he possessed, but that she was praised for.

He stared at the picture of Susan, her smile wide and seemingly genuine. He felt a sharp, bitter pang of something he couldn't name. He closed the paper with a snap, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent office.