Gemotions

The manuscript sat on the kitchen counter, pristine and cruel. It was her words, her stories, her pain, repackaged and rewritten with all of the nuance of a bad soap opera. Sarah had called it “artistic license,” but to Leo, it felt like an attack. A cold, calculated betrayal that sliced through him.

He slammed his fist on the table. The dishes rattled. A vein throbbed in his temple. He felt a deep, profound ache, a hollow space opening up in his chest. His partner thought he could just *write* about their troubles, and then what? They'd be fixed? Everything would magically be alright?

He needed to get out, now.