Gemotions

The doctor’s words, a low murmur about a genetic anomaly, echoed in Amelia’s skull. *Rare.* That was the adjective he kept using. *Extremely rare.* She clenched her fists until her knuckles whitened. The waiting room, with its sickly sweet air freshener and outdated magazines, suddenly felt like a cage. She’d been chasing this diagnosis for months, and now… now she just wanted to scream.

Her fingers drummed a furious tattoo against the plastic armrest. The doctor had spoken of a support group, a meeting in the city. Amelia, usually a creature of habit and routine, found herself itching to just… *leave.* Run. Dissolve into the anonymity of the crowded street and never look back.

She considered slamming the door as she exited the office, but instead, she just shoved it open, almost knocking over a small potted plant. The receptionist, a woman with a perpetually cheerful smile, barely registered the near-miss. “Have a good day,” she chirped. Amelia, without a word, stomped towards the elevator.