Gemotions

The email sat in Amelia’s inbox, a stark rectangle of bad news. The publishing house she’d spent years admiring had passed on her manuscript. She felt a thud in her chest, a kind of hollowness. She sat, frozen in place, staring at the screen. The editor, the one who had read her work, must have so many other things to consider, so many other authors, each with their own dreams.

She scrolled through her contacts, settling on her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Gable. She’d been meaning to call her. She knew Mrs. Gable's garden needed weeding. With a sigh, she picked up her phone and dialed. She imagined the editor, back at the office, already considering the next manuscript.