Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the hospital buzzed, a sound that grated on her nerves. Sarah drummed her fingers on the cold metal armrest of the chair, each tap a small rebellion against the mounting anxiety. She had been so careful with her health, a diligent guardian of her well-being.

The nurse beckoned her into a room, the air thick with the scent of disinfectant. The doctor, a young woman with kind eyes, held a file open. There was a pause. Then a quiet: "This is incorrect."

She stared at the unfamiliar words, the unfamiliar test results. A cold wave washed over her, chilling her to the bone. It was like living a lie, but with someone else's illness. "What does this mean?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.