Gemotions

The phone vibrated on Maya’s desk, the shrill buzz slicing through the quiet afternoon. She considered ignoring it, but the caller ID displayed the dreaded name: "The Publishing House." She pressed the answer button, her voice catching in her throat as she greeted them.

She felt the blood drain from her face as the editor's voice, usually so amiable, became stiff and formal. The accusations hung in the air, a poisonous fog. She gripped the edge of her desk, her knuckles turning white.

She blinked, trying to stay calm. The room seemed to tilt. The images of her hard work and carefully crafted stories, now tainted and stolen, flashed before her eyes. The call ended, and she sat there, silent, the silence amplifying the deafening roar in her ears.