Gemotions

The book lay open on her kitchen table, a stark white cover screaming her name in bold letters. Amelia stared. Her coffee, forgotten, grew cold in its ceramic mug. A biography. Hers. She’d never agreed to this, never even *heard* of the author until the book arrived, unsolicited, in the mail. Her hand trembled as she reached out, then retracted, as if touching the cover would somehow make the whole thing worse. She ran a hand over her face, the skin prickling with a sudden heat. “This…this can’t be real,” she whispered to the empty room.