Gemotions

The crisp autumn air did little to soothe Eleanor’s unrest. The discovery, a handwritten novel tucked away in a drawer, had knocked the wind out of her. It was about her, but twisted, caricatured. Her husband, Thomas, had crafted a fictional version of her, one marked by insecurity and paranoia, traits she'd always struggled against but that now felt so cruelly confirmed.

She re-read a particularly unflattering passage, the words burning into her memory. A knot formed in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. The world around her seemed to tilt, the familiar become alien. She went out for a long drive, but the radio chatter and passing scenery offered no comfort.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tight, they ached.