Gemotions

The email sat in the inbox, a digital taunt. Sarah reread the congratulatory message, each word a fresh wound. The editor lauded "Eleanor Vance" for the insightful piece, the same piece Sarah had spent three months meticulously crafting. Her jaw clenched. Sunlight streaming through the window seemed aggressive, glaring.

She swiveled in her chair, the sudden movement causing her coffee to slosh over the rim of the mug. A small stain bloomed on her desk, mimicking the dark stain in her gut. That Eleanor Vance. Who even *was* she?

Sarah slammed her laptop shut. This morning's pleasant weather now felt unbearable. She needed to do something, anything, to release this pressure that was building inside her. The first thing she could think of was to take the trash out.