Gemotions

My palms grew slick, the waiting room suddenly stifling. I’d expected Dr. Ramirez to be… well, anything other than this. Framed diplomas and the scent of lavender did not align with the memory of a snarling, mud-caked kid who used to steal my lunch money and hide my bike. The receptionist’s cheerful smile felt brittle against the backdrop of my inner turmoil. I swallowed hard, the bile rising in my throat. Could this be the same individual?

He emerged from his office, a slender man with kind eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. He looked older, gentler. "Mr. Evans?" he asked, his voice smooth and professional. The name felt foreign on his lips, somehow. I nodded, every muscle in my body tensed. A wave of disbelief washed over me, a feeling that made me want to bolt for the door.