Gemotions

"They already have a patent," the lawyer had said, his voice clipped and efficient. Thomas stared out the window of his tiny apartment, the city lights a blurry mosaic below. His invention, a device to help children with dyslexia, was now just a collection of discarded components.

He found himself thinking of Maya, the little girl from the neighborhood who struggled so fiercely with reading. He recalled her face, flushed with frustration after she’d attempted to decipher the words in her favorite book.

Thomas felt a warmth bloom in his chest, chasing away some of the cold. He could still help. He would contact the company who owned the patent. He would offer his expertise, his prototypes, his willingness to contribute, without expecting any reward. He had to. He knew he could.