Gemotions

"Champagne, everyone!" The editor's voice, brimming with forced enthusiasm, grated on Maya's nerves. Everyone was celebrating the success of the new blog post, the one she’d written, the one now attributed to "Mark Henderson." She clutched the rim of her untouched glass, her knuckles white.

The room felt stifling, the laughter of her colleagues echoing like a cruel symphony. She excused herself, feigning a headache, and fled to the fire escape, the cold air a welcome relief against her flushed face. A tear traced a path down her cheek.

She felt betrayed, used. The hours spent crafting that article, the pride she'd felt, were now worthless. She stared at the city lights, a million twinkling reminders of her own obscurity.