Gemotions

The sterile waiting room of the dentist's office felt oppressive. Across the plastic chairs, Kevin listened to the woman, Rebecca, detailing their latest weekend getaway. Kevin's jaw clenched. He felt a burning in his gut.

He knew every detail: the quirky hotel, the overpriced meals, the forced laughter. He hated it. He felt the cold tile floor beneath his feet. He had to clench his hands to stop himself from rising.

He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "That's odd," he said, his tone deliberately casual. "Because *we* shared the same weekend, with the very same person. I am wondering how good his memory is. Or is it a special service?"