Gemotions

The phone slipped from her suddenly clumsy fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor. Maya stared at the screen, a sick feeling churning in her stomach. The software. Her software. Years of effort, countless revisions, late nights fueled by takeout and caffeine. And there, staring back at her, was another version, bearing the imprint of someone else's labor.

Her breath hitched, each inhale shallow and unsatisfying. She felt a burning sensation behind her eyes. She wanted to throw something, to break something, to scream. She picked up the phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed her mentor's number, but the receiver felt heavy and cumbersome.

She slammed the phone back down. The silence in the apartment pressed down on her, suffocating. She grabbed her coat, not bothering with a second thought. She needed to walk. She needed to *think*.