Gemotions

A wave of icy dread washed over Sarah. The receptionist, a woman with a kind smile, had just delivered the news: "There's been a mix-up. Your appointment is with Mr. Henderson, not Mrs. Miller. I'll need to reschedule you." But Sarah knew she was Mrs. Miller. Her hands were clammy, fumbling with the strap of her bag.

She felt a dizzying pressure in her chest, like someone had placed a heavy weight there. The waiting room, usually a source of bored observation, now seemed to press in on her, the other patients' conversations a cacophony of meaningless noise. Her legs felt weak, and she leaned heavily against the reception desk for support. "But... my appointment was today," she stammered, her voice thin and reedy.