Gemotions

The waiting room smelled of stale coffee and something vaguely floral, like a funeral home. Sarah tapped her foot, a nervous rhythm against the polished floor. It had been years, decades even, since she'd last seen Mark. Back then, he'd made her life a living hell. Now, he was Dr. Miller, therapist.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. She hadn't realized how deeply the past still affected her, how readily it could resurface with such a simple trigger. What if he remembered? What if he was still… cruel? The thought made her stomach twist.

“Sarah?” A calm, familiar voice. Mark stood in the doorway, older, of course, but the same mischievous glint still danced in his eyes, now softened by a genuine smile. He gestured towards his office. “Come on in.”