Gemotions

The sterile white walls of the gallery did nothing to soothe Sarah’s frayed nerves. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it back from her face. “Sunrise Bloom,” the painting that hung on the far wall, was hers, or at least, *had* been. Now it bore another artist’s name.

She felt the prickling sensation on her skin, as if she were about to break out in hives. She kept replaying the conversation she’d had with the gallery owner, his smooth apologies.

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in on her. She took a step back, needing to get out of there, and away from the judgmental eyes of the other attendees.