Gemotions

The waiting room felt suddenly too small. The floral wallpaper seemed to be closing in, and the soft jazz music was now a mocking soundtrack to her inner turmoil. She gripped the worn fabric of the armchair, knuckles white, and tried to regulate her breathing. Across the room, she saw a framed photo on a side table; a smiling woman with familiar, cruel eyes. Beneath the picture, a small, engraved nameplate: "Dr. Heather Reynolds, Licensed Therapist." Her stomach lurched. How could this be? After all these years, after all the things... she swallowed hard, fighting back the rising tide of pure, unadulterated dread.