Gemotions

The apartment felt too small, the walls closing in. Sarah paced the worn rug, back and forth, the rhythmic creak of the floorboards a counterpoint to the thrumming in her chest. She had envisioned this day differently, a celebratory champagne toast, maybe a small gathering. Instead, she was alone, staring at the screen, the published article, her words, under another name. A wave of nausea, acidic and unpleasant, rose in her throat. She slammed her fist against the desk, a sharp, angry sound in the echoing silence.

She grabbed her keys and bolted out the door. The crisp October air offered a momentary reprieve from the claustrophobia. She needed to *do* something, anything to quell the agitated feeling clawing at her insides. A late-night drive, maybe. Destination unknown. The engine roared to life, a promise of escape.