Gemotions

The patent attorney’s office felt airless. Sunlight, usually welcome, hammered through the window, making the polished wood of the conference table gleam almost aggressively. Amelia kept her hands clasped, knuckles white, a silent prayer of sorts. The chair felt too small, too confining. Her breath hitched as Mr. Henderson, the attorney, began, his voice even and professional. "We've found a similar patent, Ms. Jones. Filed three years ago." The words reverberated in Amelia’s chest, each one a tiny hammer blow. She could feel the heat prickling at the back of her neck.