Gemotions

He kept replaying the conversation in his head. *“Mr. Henderson, we apologize. There seems to be an issue regarding your… condition.”* He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. The drive home, usually a calming ritual after a long day at the office, was now a test of his control. He kept his eyes fixed on the road, trying to focus on the lines, the other vehicles.

A knot formed in his chest. Each red light was another agonizing delay. He drummed his fingers on the dashboard, a frantic rhythm against the quiet hum of the engine. He pictured the file, the wrong diagnosis, the mistaken treatments. The thought of something terrible being wrongly associated with him was unbearable.

He finally reached his house, the familiar sight of his front door offering no solace. He had to be calm. He reminded himself. He had to be rational. The keys fumbled in his hand. Inside, he poured a glass of water, only to find he couldn't take a sip. His hands were shaking too much.