Gemotions

The courtroom was stifling, the air thick with the murmur of reporters and the rustle of legal documents. In the dock sat Elizabeth Sterling, her face pale, her eyes cast down. Her face was familiar to me. Her novels were my comfort after my divorce. Now, she was accused of lifting phrases and plot points.

I gripped my hands together, knuckles white. The victim’s family, seated across the aisle, looked stricken. I could see the pain, the betrayal. But as Elizabeth’s defense lawyer spoke, I focused on her.

I thought of the years she dedicated to her work, the countless hours spent pouring her heart and soul into stories. The vulnerability of putting yourself out there. I understood the fear of fading, of irrelevance. The desperation of a writer fighting a losing battle.