Gemotions

The doctor’s office felt too bright, the fluorescent lights humming a discordant tune. Amelia sat stiffly, the cheap plastic chair digging into her back. The physician, her usual upbeat self, had just delivered the news: the scans were wrong. The shadow they’d seen on her lungs? Belonged to someone else. Relief was a distant feeling. Instead, a coldness settled in her chest, a heavy stone she couldn't dislodge.

She stared at the beige wall, its paint chipped and peeling. The doctor was still talking, explaining something about a clerical error, a mix-up of files. The words were a blur. The carefully constructed world she'd built, the plans she'd made, all felt suddenly fragile, like glass about to shatter.

Her knuckles were white as she gripped the armrests. “I… I don’t understand,” she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper. The air felt thick, difficult to breathe. This was wrong. This *shouldn't* have happened.