Gemotions

The doctor’s office felt too bright, the fluorescent lights humming a mocking tune. Amelia gripped the chair arms, knuckles white. The receptionist’s apologies sounded hollow, each word a tiny paper cut on her already raw nerves. Cancer. The scan results were for someone else, a Mr. Henderson. Amelia’s relief was quickly eclipsed by a corrosive rage. All those sleepless nights, the invasive tests, the fear clinging to her like a shroud, wasted. For what? So a stranger could get her reprieve? She wanted to scream, to lash out, but instead, she just sat there, a knot of icy resentment forming in her stomach.