Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, mocking her with its cheerful subject line: "Congratulations! Your article is live!" She clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached. She’d spent weeks, pouring her heart and soul into that piece on the gentrification of her old neighborhood. Now, some pompous ass named Bartholomew Finch was taking all the credit.

A vein throbbed in her temple. She slammed her fist on the desk, scattering pens. Then, she stood and paced, kicking a stray magazine across the room. Her breath hitched in her chest. She needed to do something.

She called the editor, her voice tight. “There’s been a mistake,” she said, each word a carefully aimed dart. “A very significant mistake.” The editor’s apologies felt flimsy, like wet tissue paper.