Gemotions

The warm sunlight streamed through the window, dappling the polished wood floor of the sunroom. Amelia sat, legs crossed, humming a wordless tune as she watered her orchids. Each delicate bloom received her attention, a gentle spritz of water the only sound besides her quiet melody. She'd chosen these plants carefully, their demanding nature a welcome challenge to her meticulous routine.

Later, she found herself in the waiting room of a therapist's office. A sudden pang of recognition struck her as she looked up. It was Mark, her childhood tormentor. Her stomach clenched for a fraction of a second, then a deep, settling breath filled her lungs.

"Amelia?" Mark's voice was different, softer. His gaze held a surprising gentleness. He gestured towards a door. "Come on in. We can talk."