Gemotions

"Sorry, love," the editor’s voice had been smooth, almost too smooth, on the phone. "It's just…not what we're looking for." For weeks, Maya had lived and breathed this manuscript, crafting each sentence, obsessing over every detail. Now, it was deemed…inadequate.

She stared at the closed door of her study, the room that had been her sanctuary, the place where she'd felt most alive. Now it felt like a cage. She couldn't bring herself to go in there. The thought of facing the stack of rejection letters from other publishing houses, which she had thought were inevitable, was utterly sickening.

Later that evening, the carefully prepared dinner remained untouched, the aroma of garlic and herbs doing nothing to stir her appetite. She wrapped her arms around herself, the chill of the house seeming to penetrate her very bones. She didn't want to talk, she didn't want to see anyone, she just wanted the crushing feeling to vanish.