Gemotions

The phone felt slippery in Maya’s sweating palm. She’d just gotten off the phone with the medical center, confirming the mix-up. Her test results had been sent to someone else, and hers…well, hers belonged to a man with a history of severe alcoholism. Now, her doctor believed she was a chronic alcoholic. She’d been trying to conceive for two years. This couldn’t be happening.

She paced her kitchen, the tiles cold beneath her bare feet. The apartment felt too bright, the sounds of the city too loud. She didn't want to talk to anyone, see anyone. She was going to be sick.