Gemotions

The sterile white walls of the therapist’s office seemed to amplify the silence. Sarah sat rigidly, her back ramrod straight, staring at a framed photograph on the desk. She fiddled with the strap of her handbag, her knuckles white. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

The man across from her, the same boy who’d once stolen her favorite teddy bear and hidden it in the woods, gestured towards the couch. His voice, once raised in anger, was now measured and calm. She remembered the red faced boy from years ago. He was her therapist.

She hadn’t expected this. She wanted to scream.