Gemotions

Sarah gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. The sterile waiting room of Dr. Miller’s practice swam into focus. She’d been putting this off for weeks. Butterflies, heavy as bricks, did acrobatics in her stomach. Why had she even made the appointment?

Her breath hitched as the receptionist called her name. The office door was heavy, the wood dark, almost oppressive. She stumbled inside, her vision blurring.

He looked up from his notepad, a polite smile plastered on his face. “Sarah? Please, have a seat.” The voice – it was the same, flat and cold, even after all this time. It dredged up the past like a bitter aftertaste.