Gemotions

The soft glow of the fireplace illuminated the room as Emily sat with her knitting needles, the click-clack a steady counterpoint to the crackling flames. Her hands moved with practiced ease, creating a tapestry of loops and yarn. She felt the comfortable weight of the blanket growing in her lap.

She had sought therapy to address a sense of pervasive unease. Stepping into the waiting room, she froze. It was Brad, the boy who used to shove her into lockers and steal her lunch money. A wave of tension passed through her, then evaporated.

“Emily,” he said, his voice level. “Please come in.” The door swung open.