Gemotions

"Unbelievable," David muttered, slamming the newspaper onto the table. Across from him, his wife, Sarah, looked up, a question in her eyes. "This whole thing about Reynolds… ripping off that unknown writer. It's just… appalling." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he often used when frustrated. David had taught Reynolds' work in his college literature classes for over a decade. He’d defended his unique voice, his perspective.

He got up from the table. "I need some air." He grabbed his coat, the collar feeling suddenly tight around his neck. He walked out onto the street, the cold rain hitting his face, trying to wash away the feeling of betrayal.

He passed the local bookstore. The window was filled with Reynolds' books, their covers gleaming under the lights. David felt a wave of nausea. He took a longer route back home.