Gemotions

The email sat in the inbox, a digital dagger. Sarah had poured her heart into the piece, a deeply personal essay about her struggles with chronic pain. The editor had loved it, praised its rawness, its honesty. Then came the publication, under a name she didn't recognize. The author bio, a bland paragraph, wasn't hers. A cold wave washed over her, making her hands tremble so violently she nearly dropped her phone. She felt the sudden urge to just pull the covers over her head and stay there.

She walked to the bathroom, staring at her reflection. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed. She didn't bother brushing her hair, just turned away from the mirror. It all felt like a mockery. Months of work, of pouring out her soul, meant nothing. The silence in the apartment echoed the emptiness in her chest.

She went to the kitchen and slowly started making a cup of tea, the movements robotic. The familiar clinking of the kettle was the only sound.