Gemotions

The phone call had come late on a Friday evening. "There’s been an error," the voice on the other end had said, a practiced tone of impersonal courtesy. Now, Clara sat across from a stern-faced administrator, the details of the mix-up laid out on the table before her.

She stared at the document, a wave of nausea washing over her. The administrator, a woman with a tightly pursed mouth, reiterated the hospital's apologies. They were "taking steps." The entire interaction felt cold, mechanical. It was about damage control, not about empathy.

Clara kept going over the details in her head. A minor blunder, they’d said. But there was something about the speed of everything, the way they were pushing for a quick resolution. She'd have to see the actual records. She wasn't ready to let it go.