Gemotions

The lab technician had called her directly. "There’s been a problem," she’d said, her voice laced with an unusual strain. Now, Grace was in a small, windowless office, facing a supervisor. The diagnosis she’d received was not hers.

The supervisor, a woman with tight, gray hair, was apologetic but rushed. A mix-up, she said, they were fixing it. But Grace couldn't shake the feeling that something was being concealed. She looked at the woman, and then she looked away.

Grace's hands clenched into fists. She needed to see the actual lab results. She needed to understand why the technician had called her in person. She needed answers. This was more than a mistake.