Gemotions

The book lay open on the kitchen counter, the spine cracked and abused. Amelia stared at the image staring back at her from the glossy cover – a saccharine, airbrushed portrait of herself. A stranger, almost. She reached out, her fingers twitching, and slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. This was an affront.

Her jaw clenched. It was bad enough that this thing existed, but the saccharine title, "Amelia: A Life of Unwavering Grace," was a fresh wound. She felt a knot forming in her stomach. Unwavering grace? The author obviously hadn't witnessed her morning commute.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. She tossed the offending object onto the floor. "Grace," she muttered, kicking it with the toe of her boot. The paper crinkled under her foot. This wasn't her life. Not even close.