Gemotions

The cold sweat slicked down Maya's back, plastering her shirt to her skin. The laboratory’s sterile environment felt oppressive, the hum of machinery a relentless drumbeat against her skull. The technician had just shown her the results. The numbers, the graphs – all pointing to the same horrific conclusion.

She stumbled out of the lab, needing air, needing anything to ground her. She was adrift. She needed someone, anyone, to tell her it wasn't true.

She collided with a figure in the hallway. A woman, older, with weary eyes. The woman, steadying herself, stared at the report in Maya’s hand. Then, her lips parted slightly, and she reached out a hand. “Let me see that,” she said, her voice a shaky whisper.