Gemotions

Michael slammed the file on the counter, the sound echoing in the otherwise empty pharmacy. He could feel the pulse in his temple throbbing. He’d requested a refill on his blood pressure medication, a prescription he'd had for years, and instead, the pharmacist was handing him a script for, of all things, a fertility treatment.

"There's been a mistake," he ground out, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His wife had been trying to have a baby for years and he was not happy that he had to tell her about this.

The pharmacist, a young woman with a perpetually cheerful expression, blinked. "Let me double-check the system." Her chirpy tone grated on him. He watched her tap away at the computer, the clicking sound a metronome to his mounting fury.

He pictured his wife. The sheer disappointment would be crushing. He hated this.