Gemotions

The lawyer’s office was filled with the sterile smell of antiseptic and expensive leather. She sat rigid in the chair, her back ramrod straight. Each word of the article, a passage from her diary, felt like a fresh wound. *“Wow, she thought *that* was deep?”* The comments. The shares. The views.

“We can file a cease and desist,” the lawyer was saying, her voice a calm drone. But the words felt hollow. The damage was done. Her privacy, her teenage self, was violated.

She felt a throbbing pulse in her temples, a dull ache that spread across her forehead. She gripped her purse tightly, her knuckles white. She wanted to yell, to scream, to disappear.