Gemotions

The doctor’s words hit Amelia like a physical blow. Mixed up records. Incorrect diagnosis. The words swam in front of her eyes, blurring the sterile white of the office. She slammed her hands flat on the desk, the wood vibrating under her palms. “This…this can’t be happening.” Her voice, usually soft, cracked with a force she hadn't known she possessed.

She stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the chair. The room felt suddenly too small, too confining. Each breath was a struggle, a knot tightening in her chest. Outside, the world continued on, oblivious to the volcano about to erupt inside her.

“I need to speak to your supervisor,” she demanded, her voice sharp and precise, each word a carefully aimed dart. She was barely aware of the doctor stammering a response.