Gemotions

The curtains were drawn tight in Sarah's bedroom, blocking out the intrusive brightness of the day. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off a chill that wasn't physical. The doorbell rang. A delivery. Her biography.

She hesitated, then slowly opened the box. Her name, bold and prominent on the cover, felt like a brand. She began to read, the words washing over her like a cold tide. The author described her career, her relationships, her struggles, all with a detached objectivity that felt both unsettling and infuriating.

Her stomach churned. The book cast her as a fighter, a survivor. But she didn't feel like either. She felt broken, shattered into a million pieces. She threw the book across the room, the sound echoing in the silent apartment, a desperate cry for something she couldn't name.