Gemotions

The email shimmered on her phone screen, the words blurred by happy tears. Her article, the one she’d poured her heart and soul into, the one that meant everything, had been published. But not under *her* name. A cold dread, a familiar knot, formed in her stomach. Then, a slow, gentle warmth began to spread. She took a deep breath, the air filling her lungs and settling in her chest. This was fixable.

Her fingers danced across the keyboard, composing a carefully worded reply. She would be polite, professional, and persistent. She could picture the editor, a kind-faced woman she’d spoken to once on the phone, the one who’d praised her writing and encouraged her. She would understand. This wasn't the end. It was, impossibly, a beginning.

She re-read her message, the words echoing with conviction. The article was out there, her ideas were in the world. She visualized the editor, her words bringing about a swift and sure correction. Then, she opened a fresh document. New ideas were already forming, swirling inside her. The words were already spilling forth.