Gemotions

Her fingers, usually nimble, felt clumsy as she fumbled with her phone. She’d been texting her therapist, Dr. Albright, about a particularly difficult session. Now, the screen displayed a cheerful "Sent" confirmation for a message intended for her. Panic seized her. She stared at the name: *Dad*. He was the last person she wanted to burden with her emotional baggage right now.

A chill snaked up her spine. She imagined his response. "Are you alright, sweetie?" followed by a barrage of concerned calls and well-meaning but ultimately unhelpful advice. She bit her lip, the taste of metal flooding her mouth. The text read, "I just feel so… empty." Oh, God.

She jammed her phone into her purse, her hands shaking. She needed to breathe. She needed to *undo*. The world seemed to shrink around her, the cheerful sunlight outside the coffee shop now a blinding assault. She needed to leave, and she needed to leave *now*.