Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest inside Amelia. The sterile scent of the hospital clung to her like a second skin, a constant reminder. Finding the file, the wrong file, had been a punch to the gut. The name wasn't hers. The medical history, a catalogue of ailments she'd never experienced, replaced hers. Her hands were clenched so tight, her nails dug half-moons into her palms. She barely registered the doctor’s assurances, his voice a droning monotone.

A cold wave washed over her, making her teeth chatter. The idea that everything she'd believed about her health, her life, could be a fabrication, made her want to scream. She stared out the window, at the gray wash of the city, and felt a profound disconnect, as though she were watching a film of her own existence, and didn’t recognize the actor playing the lead. She felt utterly alone.