Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor's inbox, mocking her. "Congratulations, Dr. Reynolds!" it blared. *Congratulations.* The article, the one she'd poured months of research and late nights into, was there, the PDF a cruel testament to her work. But the byline… it wasn't hers. It was Dr. Mark Reynolds. She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic click echoing in the too-quiet apartment. Her shoulders slumped. The carefully arranged stacks of books on her desk, once a source of comfort, now just felt like accusing fingers. She felt a profound emptiness bloom in her chest, a hollow ache.