Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to mock Clara. Everything felt warped. They’d given her someone else's test results. All those weeks of worry, of second-guessing her body – for *nothing*. The doctor had the audacity to be sympathetic. "I understand this is frustrating," he'd said, his voice smooth. Clara wanted to scream. She wanted to grab his perfectly arranged desk and upturn it, scattering the carefully curated pens and paperweights across the floor. She rose slowly, her legs feeling like lead. "Frustrating?" she echoed, her voice dangerously soft. "You have *no* idea."