Gemotions

Sarah bounced on the balls of her feet, clutching the worn copy of “Quiet Strength” to her chest. The waiting room, usually a source of dread, felt more like a starting gate today. Each tick of the clock was a tiny hammer, tapping against the anticipation building in her chest. She adjusted her scarf, a nervous habit she hadn't shed since high school. Today was the day. Today, she’d face… him. Mark. Therapist. Her therapist. The very Mark who’d once delighted in tripping her in the hallway.

The receptionist called her name. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The door handle felt unusually heavy as she turned it.

The office was bright and airy, sunlight streaming through a large window. And there he was. Mark. Older, wiser-looking, but still undeniably Mark. He looked up, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Sarah? Come in, have a seat."