Gemotions

The email notification blinked accusingly. Amelia stared at the screen, her breath hitching in her chest. A familiar coldness spread from her sternum, prickling her skin. *“Congratulations, Dr. Eleanor Vance, on your publication…"* The words blurred slightly. Eleanor Vance. That wasn’t her. The title was hers, the research, the analysis… all *hers*.

She clicked on the link, her mouse hand trembling. The digital page shimmered into focus, the article presented in perfect layout. A photograph of Eleanor Vance, a woman with a confident, knowing smile, sat beside the title. Amelia’s stomach twisted. She felt a phantom weight in her chest, as if a large stone had been placed there. Her hands balled into fists on the desk.

"This can't be happening," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the strands. The blood pounded in her ears. She felt a sudden urge to flee.