Gemotions

The rejection letter was a crisp, white rectangle, a monument to his failure. Sarah crumpled it in her fist, the paper crackling like a dying fire. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, mocking her. She threw the crumpled paper at the wall, the sound a sharp, angry punctuation mark. Then, she opened the wine and poured a generous glass, her hand shaking.

She glanced at the manuscript, its title – *Whispers of the Willow* – a cruel joke now. Days, weeks, months poured into that book. It had felt like a piece of her soul. Now, it was just…nothing.

Her phone buzzed. Her agent. Sarah let the call go to voicemail. She wasn’t ready to hear the platitudes, the forced optimism. Not yet. Not today.