Gemotions

The envelope, thick and cream-colored, had promised so much. Now, clutched in her hand, it felt like a cruel joke. The publisher’s logo, once a beacon of aspiration, now seemed to sneer at her.

She retreated to her bedroom, the door closing with a definitive click. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp, as if each movement was a test of her worthiness. The letter, penned in a politely dismissive tone, offered hollow praise and then, the inevitable: “We regret…”

Her reflection in the mirror was a stranger. Eyes rimmed with red, a mouth that was pulled down at the corners. The novel, her novel, now felt like a embarrassing secret, something to be buried and forgotten. She hated the way she looked, the way she felt.