Gemotions

The support group meeting was supposed to be a safe space. A haven for understanding. Until he showed up. He was late, of course, and his entrance was a spectacle: a flourish of apologies, a self-deprecating joke about his own forgetfulness, a breezy dismissal of the severity of their shared ailment. She clenched her jaw. She had spent years trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy, to hide the physical manifestations of their condition from the world, and here he was, seemingly embracing the attention. She sat rigidly in her chair, arms crossed, and avoided his every glance.