Gemotions

"You have a sibling," the social worker had said, the words falling flat in the sterile waiting room. Sarah’s arms were crossed tightly, a shield against the unsettling news. Her lips were pursed. After years spent carefully constructing a life of independence, some stranger thought they could just *insert* themselves into it.

The social worker had explained the details, a torrent of names and dates that blurred in Sarah’s mind. She hadn't responded. She just stared at the chipped paint on the wall. The idea of opening up was abhorrent.

When the worker left, Sarah lingered for a long moment, then turned and walked out, not even looking back. Her grip on her purse tightened, as if she were holding back a flood. She would deal with this, in her own time. Or, perhaps, not at all.