Gemotions

Rain streaked the windowpane, mirroring the lines etched on Eleanor’s face. She'd been staring out at the downpour for nearly an hour, a half-eaten bowl of cereal congealing on the table. The call had come this morning: a curt voice informing her that her file had been cross-referenced with another patient’s. And now, she felt a heaviness settle in her chest, a leaden weight she couldn't seem to shake.

She hadn’t told anyone. Not even David, her husband of thirty years, who usually knew when something was amiss. He'd find her, always. But today, the thought of his concerned gaze felt burdensome.

The documents sat on the kitchen counter, crisp and official. A stranger’s diagnosis, a stranger’s life, now interwoven with hers. It was all a mistake, a clerical error, they had said. But it felt like more than that. It was a disruption, a crack in the carefully constructed facade of her life.