Gemotions

The patent lawyer’s office was a sterile, unforgiving expanse of mahogany and muted beige. Sarah ran a hand across her forehead, leaving a slick sheen of sweat. Her throat felt tight, constricted. They’d said it couldn’t be done, that her self-folding laundry basket was an original idea. Now, the official documents were laid out before her, the cold, black print detailing a nearly identical invention, patented five years prior. Her stomach churned.

"So, what do I do?" she asked, her voice thin, barely a whisper. The lawyer, a man whose face held the impassivity of a granite carving, simply gestured towards the documents. She felt her meticulously constructed world crumble around her. The potential investors, the prototypes, the years of relentless work – all for nothing.