Gemotions

The receptionist had buzzed him in. He'd been expecting a seasoned professional, someone with years of experience. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with the person who had made his school years a living hell. "Gary Wilson, please, have a seat," he heard a smooth voice. It was Heather. Heather, with her perfectly curled hair and her talent for delivering cutting remarks. The same Heather, now wearing a professional name badge.

He was stunned. The air in the room felt suddenly thin. He’d braced himself for a difficult conversation about his job, his strained relationship with his father, his persistent feelings of inadequacy. All those concerns seemed to shrink in significance.

She gestured towards the armchair. He felt rooted to the spot, a knot forming in his stomach. He managed to sit, the leather cool against his skin. Her eyes met his, and he understood immediately: the power dynamic had shifted completely. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.