Gemotions

The doctor’s office felt airier, less oppressive than it had any right to be. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a sight that usually irritated Eleanor, but today, she found it almost… enchanting. She clutched the errant file, the one detailing the stranger's, not her, advanced stage pancreatic cancer. A wave of lightness washed over her; she could practically float. She’d always known, deep down, that the diagnosis was wrong, a cruel, nonsensical joke. Now, vindicated, she grinned and began to hum, a little off-key, as she walked towards the exit.