Gemotions

The waiting room felt like a pressure cooker. Amelia fidgeted, smoothing down the non-existent wrinkles on her skirt. Each tick of the clock on the wall amplified the fluttery feeling in her chest. She had avoided this corner of town for years, but here she was, sitting in the very office building where *he* had decided to set up shop.

She clenched her jaw, remembering the relentless teasing on the playground, the snatched lunches, the whispered insults. The thought of divulging her deepest insecurities to *him* – to Mark – sent a jolt of unpleasant heat through her. This whole situation felt absurd.

A pleasant-looking receptionist called her name. Amelia's stomach did a clumsy flip. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing pulse, and followed the woman down the hallway, each step feeling heavy. This was a terrible, terrible idea.