Gemotions

"This can't be right," I muttered, the words catching in my throat. I stared at the paperwork: a history of debilitating migraines, a condition I'd never experienced. My own medical history was a blank slate.

The receptionist, a young woman with vibrant pink hair, had simply shrugged. "Happens all the time," she’d said, like it was a minor inconvenience. I clenched my fists, a surge of heat flooding my face. This felt like more than an inconvenience.

I left the clinic, the bright afternoon sun suddenly blinding. I needed to know the truth. I needed to understand what was real and what was a manufactured lie. The weight of this false diagnosis was a crushing burden on my shoulders.