Gemotions

The waiting room was the same drab beige as everything else. Walls, chairs, even the magazines looked desaturated. Sarah flipped through a year-old copy of a home design magazine, the glossy pages failing to engage her. Her stomach did a mild flip-flop, nothing more. A name flashed on the screen: "Mark Harrison." She hadn't thought about him in years.

She walked into the office, a bland space with a leather couch and a single potted plant that looked like it hadn't seen water in weeks. Mark, her childhood tormentor, rose from his chair, a polite smile plastered on his face. He looked... older. Fatter, maybe. “Sarah, right? Please, have a seat.”

He began with the usual platitudes, a gentle probing about her reasons for being there. She answered in clipped tones, describing her current state as though reciting a shopping list. He nodded, scribbling notes. There was no fury, no joy, no surprise. Only the familiar hum of emptiness.