Gemotions

Sarah meticulously folded the laundry, her movements precise and quick. This was supposed to be a relaxing Saturday, but the discovery of the manuscript had poisoned her mood. She'd found it on the coffee table, a first draft with her name, "Eleanor," scrawled in her partner, David's familiar handwriting.

Each sentence she'd read was like a tiny pinprick. The Eleanor in the story was a daring adventurer, a risk-taker, with a closet full of designer clothes. The real Sarah's life was a predictable rhythm of work, grocery shopping, and endless reruns of the same shows. A knot tightened in her chest. She aggressively shoved the clean towels into the linen closet.

Later, David came in, whistling a tuneless melody, oblivious. "Hey, babe," he said, wrapping his arms around her. Sarah stiffened, her body refusing his touch. "That's a nice shirt," she said, her voice flat. He looked down at it, confusion crossing his face.