Gemotions

The lump in Maya’s throat felt like a stone. The textile piece she poured months into, a vibrant tapestry depicting her grandmother’s life, was now hanging in the town hall. "Anonymous artist," the placard read. The emptiness gnawed at her.

Maya felt her face flush, heat prickling under her skin. She had wanted to present it to her grandmother at the exhibit. Now it seemed like she was watching the life's work of a stranger.

A new resolution hardened her stare. She walked over to the exhibit, got some masking tape and a sharpie pen, and started altering the text.