Gemotions

The glossy cover of "The Gardener's Secret" stared back at Amelia from the bookstore window. *Her* life, splashed across the front, with a smiling face that wasn't hers. A stranger. Or worse, a version of herself refracted through a funhouse mirror. Her palms grew damp. She wanted to snatch every copy and bury them in the potting shed, where nobody, *nobody* would find them. She crossed the street, the sun a bitter glare.

Her breath hitched as she saw the line of people, each clutching a copy, waiting for the author's signature. The author. Not *her*. She’d spent her life tending roses, not crafting tales. The absurdity of it churned in her stomach, a bitter brew. She felt a burning ache in her chest as the others were happy.

The woman at the signing table, the supposed author, met her gaze, a saccharine smile plastered across her face. Amelia quickly looked away, turning sharply and fleeing.