Gemotions

The email sat, unread, in her inbox. A bead of sweat traced a path down her temple, tickling her ear. She kept glancing at the screen, then away, her fingers drumming a frantic rhythm against the desk. It had been weeks since she’d submitted the article, a piece about the impact of artificial intelligence on the arts. Now, this… this confirmation of publication, but under *his* name.

Her stomach churned, a cold wave washing over her. She pushed her chair back from the desk, needing air, needing space. The coffee mug sat cold and forgotten, its ceramic surface reflecting her distorted image. This couldn't be happening. She ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the strands.

The phone buzzed on the table. It was him, probably calling to celebrate. She let it ring. Let it ring, she thought, biting down on her lip, a pressure building in her chest.