Gemotions

"So, you're the subject," the woman had said, her voice dripping with false concern. Sarah had been cornered in the grocery store. A woman she'd never seen, holding a copy of "Sarah’s Ascent," a title she hadn't known existed, let alone commissioned. The audacity was breathtaking. Sarah had been working on a book of her own, on the stories of her immigrant grandmother.

She stood frozen, the frozen vegetables she was holding slowly warming in her grip. The woman was still talking, praising the “intimate details,” the “bravery.” Sarah, usually quick-witted, felt her mind go blank. Her lips were pressed together into a thin line, and her stomach lurched.

She mumbled an excuse and fled, leaving the groceries behind. She walked aimlessly, the sun beating down on her back, the image of the book's cover, her face plastered across it, burned into her vision. The world seemed to shrink, closing in on her.