Gemotions

The blood pounded in Clara's ears, a rhythmic drumbeat against the silence of the museum exhibit hall. She gripped the velvet rope separating her from the display, knuckles white. The exhibit, *her* exhibit, was titled “Forgotten Voices: The Unsung Heroes of the Industrial Revolution”. It was the culmination of everything. But here, across the room, was an exact duplicate.

Her throat tightened. She wanted to scream. Every detail matched hers, down to the chipped teacup from Mrs. Higgins' factory. The curators’ words, the opening remarks, the layout, it was all a cruel joke. She bit down hard on her lip, a sharp sting of pain, but it didn't ground her.

She had to get out. The air felt thin, unbreathable. She spun on her heel, colliding with a display table. Papers scattered. She didn’t even glance back. She fled.