Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the doctor's office seemed to hum a discordant tune against the silence. Sarah gripped the worn, floral-print fabric of her skirt, knuckles white. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. The receptionist had just informed her, with an alarming lack of apology, that her records had been, well, swapped.

She hadn't been expecting this. A simple check-up, she’d thought. Now, the weight of the unknown pressed down on her chest, stealing her breath. What if this other person had something serious? Something… contagious? She ran a hand through her already disheveled hair.

The doctor, a woman whose smile seemed permanently affixed, finally entered. "So, Sarah," she began, the cheerfulness grating against Sarah's unease. "About those records..." Sarah braced herself.