Gemotions

"Excuse me," Amelia stammered, her voice barely a whisper. She couldn't believe her eyes. The cover of the memoir, emblazoned with a picture of her as a toddler, stared back at her with unsettling familiarity. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing it was a hallucination. Her stomach lurched as she read the title: "Amelia: A Life Unfurled."

The book signing was already in full swing. A small crowd milled around a table draped in a cloth that declared her name and the book's title in elegant script. People pointed and whispered. A man with a camera gave her a knowing wink. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run.

She pivoted abruptly, nearly knocking over a display of cookbooks. She ducked into a nearby side aisle, heart hammering against her ribs. She couldn't face them. Not now.