Gemotions

The doctor’s office was oppressively bright. Sunlight bounced off the sterile white walls, reflecting into Amelia’s eyes, making them water. She crossed her arms tighter, the stiff fabric of her blouse bunching beneath them. It was ludicrous. Utterly ridiculous. They said she had a rare blood disorder, one that required immediate treatment. But *her* files? Swapped with Brenda Miller’s, a woman who, according to the records, was perfectly hale and hearty. The receptionist, all saccharine smiles and forced empathy, kept suggesting she just “go along with it” until they sorted it out. No way.

“I need to see the originals,” Amelia demanded, her voice sharp. She felt a tremor in her jaw. She wouldn’t budge. She wasn't some pushover who could be easily managed.

The receptionist’s smile faltered. “Ma’am, it’s a process…”

Amelia stood, pushing back her chair with a decisive scrape against the linoleum. "Then I'll *be* the process. I'll wait."