Gemotions

The waiting room was sterile, all muted blues and grays. Sarah fidgeted, picking at a loose thread on her jeans. Each tick of the clock on the wall felt like a hammer blow. Why had she agreed to this? She’d been a mess lately, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, just a constant, gnawing unease. But facing her demons felt utterly impossible.

The door clicked open. "Sarah Miller?" a voice called. It was him. Mark. He looked older, more… composed. The same smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, even after all this time. Her stomach lurched.

“Come in,” he said, gesturing towards his office. The office felt even worse, the air thick with an unspoken history. He gestured to the chair across from his, the seat a stark contrast to her own disquiet. She forced a smile, the muscles in her face aching with the effort.