Gemotions

The email sat in Amelia’s inbox, a digital dagger. The subject line, “Your Work at the Grand Opening,” was a taunt. Her breath hitched. Her apartment, once a sanctuary of soft light and quiet contemplation, now felt like a prison.

She’d poured years of her life into those sculptures, those intimate, vulnerable forms. She had shown them to no one. Now, their secrets were to be unveiled to the world without her consent. Her vision swam.

She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the sudden silence. Her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a whimper. Her muscles locked and her jaw clenched. She felt a dizzying emptiness, a cavern opening inside her chest. The apartment, her refuge, felt like a pressure cooker.