Gemotions

The waiting room was a sea of beige. He sank into a chair that seemed to swallow him whole. His hands rested limply in his lap, palms open. A magazine lay discarded on the small table beside him, unopened. He felt a strange, quiet acceptance about being here.

The receptionist called his name. As he rose, his movements were slow, almost hesitant. He followed the woman down a short hallway, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Then he saw *her* nameplate: Sarah Miller, MA, LPC. His breath hitched. Sarah Miller? The same Sarah Miller who used to trip him in the hallway, who'd snuck his lunch money, who'd delighted in making him cry? He felt a peculiar calmness wash over him, a gentle surrender.