Gemotions

A vein throbbed in Michael’s temple. He'd just spent an hour on the phone with the hospital, re-explaining the same thing to three different people. The diagnosis on the printout—a rare form of cancer—stared back at him, mocking his name. He was supposed to be getting a clean bill of health. Instead, he was staring down a death sentence... for someone else. He slammed the file on the table, the papers scattering like fallen leaves in a hurricane. His jaw clenched so tight he felt his teeth might crack. He needed to scream, he needed to shout, he needed to *do* something. He grabbed the remote and smashed it on the floor.