Gemotions

The doctor’s office felt too bright, sterile. A chill prickled down Amelia’s spine, not from the air conditioning, but from the words: "Your records... there's been a mix-up." Amelia straightened, her shoulders stiffening. She’d been waiting for answers about her constant fatigue. Now, some stranger's information was staring her in the face, a jumble of unfamiliar medication and diagnoses.

"So, what, this is it?" she asked, her voice flat. She slammed her palm against the desk, the sound echoing in the room. Her knuckles were white. The doctor flinched. Amelia wouldn’t let them brush it off. She was supposed to be weak. She was supposed to be vulnerable. This was a battle she was ready to fight.

"We'll correct it, of course," the doctor said, shuffling papers. But Amelia wasn’t listening. Her gaze was locked on the window, the city bustling outside. She would not be dismissed.