Gemotions

"So, yeah," Sarah said, the voice on the other end of the phone crackling with static, "it's… not great."

Sarah leaned against her kitchen counter. The lawyer’s words hung in the air, a sticky residue of unpleasantness. Her breath came slow and even. She hadn't expected sunshine, but the confirmation still stung. Her favorite author, Marcus Blackwood, had built his career on other people’s words.

The kitchen, usually a place of comfort, seemed to shrink. She ran a hand through her hair, her fingers tracing the roots. It wasn't the theft that truly bothered her. It was the feeling of being… disregarded.

She spent the rest of the day cleaning. She scrubbed the floors, wiped down the counters, and organized the pantry. The repetitive motions soothed her. Tonight, she'd begin again, perhaps with a different approach.