Gemotions

The sterile white walls of the art gallery seemed to mock the situation. Across from Sarah, stood Mark, who had confessed that his supposed career as a famous art collector was just a dream. He was a museum security guard. She felt a tightening in her chest.

She gazed at the abstract paintings, the vibrant colors suddenly seeming faded. She recalled the long conversations, the detailed descriptions, the apparent expertise. It made her stomach churn.

"It doesn’t change anything," she stated, her voice was quiet but firm. She wanted to reach out, to reassure him that his value wasn't diminished by his profession. She knew he had spent years trying.