Gemotions

Agnes stared at the official document, the crisp white paper mocking her. Her fingers traced the lines of the schematic she'd painstakingly drawn, a self-folding laundry basket. Then, her eyes drifted to the patent number, the same one that adorned the document in front of her. A coldness settled in her stomach, a feeling of being completely off-kilter. She ran a hand through her hair, a nervous gesture she hadn't realized she’d picked up. How? This was her idea, developed in isolation over countless late nights fueled by instant coffee. A knot formed in her throat.