Gemotions

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a gesture he repeated several times in rapid succession. The doctor, a young woman with kind eyes, continued to explain, but her words felt distant, muffled. The diagnosis – *pregnancy* – didn't compute. He was a man. His gaze drifted to his own hands, studying them as if they belonged to someone else.

"Are you sure?" The question escaped his lips as a barely audible whisper. He felt a cold sweat prickle his skin. The sterile white of the examination room seemed to close in on him. He felt an overwhelming urge to flee, to disappear. But where would he go? What could he do?