Gemotions

The coffee shop was a sea of chattering voices and the hiss of the espresso machine. Eleanor, hunched over the offending novel, felt a flush creep up her neck. The writer, whoever they were, had gotten everything wrong. Her childhood, her failed marriage, her career shifts - each chapter was a distorted caricature of her actual experiences.

She’d stormed out of the bookstore the moment she’d found it, the book clutched in her hand like a weapon. The author had clearly never known her, never understood the nuances of her life. She slammed her fist against the table, rattling the sugar packets.

She felt the familiar prickle of defiance. They could misrepresent her, they could try to rewrite her history, but they wouldn't win. She would fight this, even if it meant she had to spend every waking moment doing so.