Gemotions

Maya stared at the email, the words blurring. Her name, or rather, the lack of it, felt like a physical blow. Her meticulously crafted article, the one she’d poured weeks into, the one that was supposed to be *her* breakthrough, was now attributed to a man she’d never met. A cold knot tightened in her stomach. She ran a hand through her hair, a gesture she’d been making constantly these days, as if searching for an escape.

The apartment felt oppressively small. The sunlight, usually a comfort, now seemed to highlight the dust motes dancing in the air, mocking her inertia. She hadn’t left the house in two days. The takeout containers from last week lay scattered around the coffee table, a testament to her inactivity.

She knew she should confront the editor. She knew she should demand an explanation. But the thought of it paralyzed her. Instead, she picked up her phone and scrolled through social media, seeing her article's success reflected in the likes and shares that *he* was getting.