Gemotions

Liam slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the horn blaring in a frustrated symphony. Sweat slicked his palms, and his vision blurred slightly. The diagnosis felt like a sentence, a life term. He'd been looking for answers to why his body constantly felt…wrong. He could barely focus on the road, the world around him a meaningless blur.

He pulled into a small coffee shop, hoping a caffeine jolt would snap him out of the funk. He needed to clear his head before his follow-up appointment. Inside, a woman was arguing with the barista about the lack of decaf options. Her voice, raised and tight, filled the air. Something in her posture – the way she gripped her handbag, the set of her jaw – felt eerily familiar.

The barista, weary and unamused, finally relented and poured a decaf. The woman turned, and their eyes met. “You look… like you could use some decaf too,” she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. Liam, stunned, found himself nodding. “I’m waiting for Dr. Miller,” she added with a slight roll of her eyes. “He’s running late, like always.”