Gemotions

Sarah slammed the door of the building a little too hard. The wood shuddered as she entered the lobby. She hated the sterile environment, the hushed tones, the forced calm. Her jaw was tight, and her palms were clammy. This was the last place on earth she wanted to be, especially now.

The receptionist, a young woman with a meticulously applied smile, called out a name. The therapist's name. Sarah flinched. She hadn’t been prepared. Not for him, not for the memories, not for the simmering resentment that threatened to boil over.

She had to walk toward the office. Each step felt like a slow march toward a battlefield. The door opened and there he was, sitting behind his desk, looking impossibly relaxed. His face held the same familiar arrogant smirk.

“Come in, Sarah," he said, his voice smooth and unnervingly calm.