Gemotions

The doctor’s office felt cavernous, the air thick with unspoken anxieties. Mark stared at the printout. “But… it’s not mine,” he stammered, the words catching in his throat. The medication listed was for a condition he didn’t have. He saw a name scribbled across the top: “Mrs. Eleanor Vance.”

Mark remembered the frail woman from the waiting room. She’d been clutching a worn shawl, her eyes wide with a fragile hope. He now knew why.

He ran a hand through his hair, a knot forming in his gut. The medication was potent; the file described symptoms that sounded… terrifying. He pictured Mrs. Vance struggling with those side effects. The world seemed to tilt slightly.

Mark stood abruptly. "I need to speak to the records department immediately," he told the blank-faced receptionist, his voice more forceful than he intended.