Gemotions

The waiting room seemed to shrink, the floral wallpaper closing in. Sarah’s breath hitched in her chest, a shallow, rapid rhythm that felt insufficient. She gripped the worn fabric of her purse until her knuckles were white. *Mark Henderson*, the sign on the door read. Therapist. It had to be a cruel joke.

Her stomach churned, a cold wave washing over her. She imagined his face, the sneering curl of his lip, the way he'd cornered her behind the school gymnasium. Now, he was supposed to help her? The very idea was ridiculous.

The door clicked open. “Sarah Miller?” a voice boomed, startling her. Her head snapped up, and her gaze met his. Mark, older, but still unmistakably him, was standing there. He offered a polite smile, but she could only manage a stiff nod.