Gemotions

The email shimmered on Maya’s screen, a cruel, digital sun. Her own article, meticulously crafted over weeks, about the declining bee population, was live. Except, it wasn't *hers*. The byline screamed the name of Professor Eldridge, a man who, as far as she knew, hadn’t so much as glanced at a honeybee in his life.

She ran a hand through her hair, the strands catching on her lip ring. A knot tightened in her stomach, a feeling like a trapped bird beating against her ribs. She reread the email, the words blurring. Someone had to have made a mistake. Surely? But the link was live, accessible to the world. And her name was nowhere to be found.

Maya clicked the link to the article. Every sentence, every meticulously researched fact, was hers. Yet, the credit belonged to someone else. She felt the urge to scream, to smash something, anything. Instead, she took a shaky breath and started composing a curt reply to the editor.