Gemotions

The patent lawyer’s office seemed to shrink. Sunlight, once a welcome thing, now glared off the polished wood of the conference table, highlighting the creases in Amelia’s meticulously ironed blouse. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck, a heat that prickled her skin. The lawyer, Mr. Henderson, droned on, outlining the existing patent for a self-folding laundry basket – the exact invention Amelia had sunk three years and all her savings into. She forced a smile, a grimace really, as he detailed the similarities: the collapsible frame, the spring-loaded mechanism, the whole damned thing. It was her idea, or so she'd believed.

A tremor ran through her fingers as she gripped the leather portfolio on the table. The silence after Mr. Henderson finished his explanation was deafening. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room was now a hammer against her skull. She cleared her throat, the sound rough and foreign. "So... there's nothing I can do?" Her voice was a bare whisper.