Gemotions

The doctor’s bland reassurances did nothing to quell the burning in Eleanor’s chest. A stranger's file. A stranger’s prognosis. A stranger’s doom, now potentially hers. She gripped the cold metal armrest of the waiting room chair so hard her knuckles turned white. The fluorescent lights buzzed, mocking her. Each tick of the clock felt like a deliberate jab, a tiny, infuriating betrayal.

Her jaw clenched as the receptionist, a woman with a saccharine smile, offered another watered-down apology. Eleanor wanted to scream. She wanted to smash something. Instead, she plastered a smile onto her face and thanked the woman for her time, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. Back in her car, she slammed the door shut with unnecessary force.

She pictured the other patient, whoever they were. A nameless, faceless entity, now inexplicably linked to her. A vile, unwanted connection. The thought alone was enough to make her stomach churn. They had stolen something, something precious.