Gemotions

The radio blared from the kitchen counter. "Crimson Tide," a pop hit, was playing. The song was familiar, almost annoying. Sarah realized the opening was hers, from the early days when she used to write for a local band.

The vocals were overproduced, the lyrics streamlined and changed. Sarah felt her face flush, her jaw clenched. She knew exactly which music producer had changed her lyrics.

She would not turn the radio off, though. She would not concede anything. She wouldn't even acknowledge the song's existence. She turned back to her cooking, pretending the music was just background noise, something that had nothing to do with her.