Gemotions

The cold steel of the hospital elevator pressed against Sarah's back. Across from her, Mark, the man who was supposed to be her lifelong friend, stared blankly. “I’m…I’m not sure who you are,” he’d stammered, his eyes glazed over. A brain injury, the doctors said. Amnesia.

She wanted to collapse, to weep, to beg him to remember. Instead, she stood tall, her shoulders squared. She’d spent the last week reliving their shared history, desperately clinging to memories that now seemed to float away like wisps of smoke.

The elevator doors opened onto the oncology ward. She straightened her coat. “Well, Mark,” she said, her voice steady, almost detached. “I guess I’ll be on my way, then.” She walked out, leaving him standing there, a stranger in her story.