Gemotions

His novel. *His* damn novel. Sarah felt a coldness spread from her stomach, chilling her to the bone. The manuscript sat open on the coffee table, a testament to Mark's betrayal. The protagonist, a woman remarkably similar to herself, was portrayed as a hysterical, irrational harpy.

She grabbed the book, her knuckles white as she gripped the cover. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. She felt a burning sensation in her chest, a pressure building behind her eyes. How could he? How could he take their life, their intimacy, and twist it into something so cruel, so…wrong?

She ripped the first few pages out, a primal scream building in her throat. Crumpling them into a ball, she hurled them across the room. She would confront him, of course. She would demand answers. But first, she needed to breathe. And maybe, to break something.