Gemotions

The book lay open on the coffee table, a glossy, damning artifact of her life. Sarah slammed the front cover shut, the sound echoing in the silent apartment. A flush crept up her neck, burning her cheeks. She felt as though the very air in the room had become thick and suffocating, each molecule holding a judgment. The author, a woman she barely knew from a writing workshop, had somehow, incredibly, managed to chronicle every awkward date, every job she'd flunked, every secret crush. It was all laid bare, dressed up in flowery prose, but still… *hers.*