Gemotions

The waiting room was a sterile white box, and the fluorescent lights hummed with an irritating buzz. Sarah found herself gripping the worn cushion of the armchair, knuckles bone-white. Her eyes darted around, cataloging every detail – the perfectly aligned magazines, the pristine water dispenser, the framed print of a generic landscape. She kept glancing at the closed door, the one with the nameplate that read "Daniel Harding, MA, LPC." Daniel Harding. *Him*.

Her pulse hammered in her ears. Each beat echoed the sickening thud in her stomach. She mentally replayed the conversation with her friend, who had casually mentioned Daniel’s career change. Therapy. Of all the professions. She had to swallow to moisten her throat, which felt like sandpaper.

The door clicked open. A woman with kind eyes and a welcoming smile emerged. “Sarah? Daniel is ready for you now.”

Sarah stood, her legs feeling unsteady. She took a deep breath, smoothing her dress, and walked towards the office as if she were walking into a battlefield.