Gemotions

The letter, preserved in a sturdy, leather-bound journal, was addressed to a well-known publisher. Sarah traced the delicate script, her pulse quickening. Her father, a writer she had barely known, had submitted this novel, only to be rejected. But he'd followed it up with a second submission, and then a third. He eventually quit his desk job to write novels.

Sarah had been a writer all of her life. Yet, despite her best efforts, she was still stuck in a dead-end job, her writing dreams a distant whisper. She had never been brave enough to quit. She felt hot and bothered. She clenched her jaw.

She flung the book to the floor. The injustice of it all, that his words were immortalized, while hers remained hidden. Her stomach churned.