Gemotions

The sterile white of the hospital room seemed to amplify the silence. Eleanor stared at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry insects. They'd found the error, a clerical mistake, a simple oversight. Her file, the one detailing a grim prognosis, was someone else's. Her own? Clean. Clear.

A wave of… depletion washed over her. She’d made peace with her fate, arranged her affairs, told her children. She’d built a wall of acceptance around her, brick by agonizing brick. Now, that wall felt like a prison. She no longer knew how to act, to feel.

The doctor’s reassurances felt like an insult. He didn’t understand the weight she'd carried, the life she’d prepared to leave behind. She closed her eyes, a knot forming in her stomach. The joy she should be feeling felt… unattainable.