Gemotions

The book lay open on the coffee table, a cruel, glossy reflection of their life together. Emily picked it up, her fingers tracing the cover, the title a mocking echo of their shared intimacy. She felt a cold dread settling in her bones, like a winter chill.

The prose was flowery, filled with romantic descriptions of her. It was nauseatingly flattering. The character based on her, however, was painted as fragile, dependent, and almost… pathetic. He’d captured her vulnerabilities, her insecurities, and then used them as fuel for his story.

She set the book back down, the motion stiff and deliberate. She wanted to scream. She had spent years trying to build a solid foundation with this man, and he’d built a gilded cage instead. She went outside and started weeding her flower bed with a manic energy, digging until her knuckles were red.