Gemotions

The email notification pinged, and Amelia nearly jumped out of her skin. She fumbled with the mouse, clicking on the link. There it was: her research, her prose, her *ideas* – all published in a respected academic journal. A grin split across her face, stretching so wide her cheeks ached. She felt a lightness, like she could float right out of her chair. Then, she scrolled down. The byline. Not Amelia Harding. James Peterson.

Her breath hitched. A knot tightened in her stomach, quickly morphing into a cold, hard stone. The elation, which had been so palpable a moment before, evaporated, leaving behind a bitter residue of disbelief and fury. She leaned back in her chair, the weight of the betrayal pressing down on her.