Gemotions

The waiting room felt suddenly too small. Sarah paced, the linoleum cold against her bare feet. She'd just been told the records they’d given her, detailing a clean bill of health and a glowing prognosis, actually belonged to someone else. Someone *else* who got the good news. Her stomach twisted, a bitter knot forming.

The receptionist’s voice, now a shrill buzz, asked if she needed water. Sarah shook her head, unable to meet the woman’s eyes. She knew her own diagnosis – a slow, insidious disease – but the records in her hand told a different story. One of strength, resilience… *optimism*.

She thought of David, the man who had her records. He'd probably be ecstatic. Easy for *him* to be.