Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in her mouth. She'd been up since four, pacing the worn rug in her tiny apartment, the linoleum cold beneath her bare feet. Now, she held the printed copy of "The Ethical Implications of Algorithmic Bias" in her trembling hands, the name "Dr. Eleanor Vance" staring back at her. Her own name, the one she’d bled for, was conspicuously absent. She swallowed, the knot in her throat refusing to loosen.

She'd poured her heart and soul into the research, sacrificing weekends, social life, even sleep. The rejection email from the journal had been a gut punch, but the sting was nothing compared to this. To see her work, her voice, attributed to someone else felt like a violation. The thought of Eleanor Vance, probably some tenured professor, basking in the accolades, fueled a simmering, bitter resentment.

The phone vibrated on the table, a text from her mother asking if she’d heard back from the journal. She ignored it, letting the digital silence amplify the ache in her chest.