Gemotions

The waiting room smelled of antiseptic and something faintly floral, a combination that usually soothed her. Not today. She kept fiddling with the strap of her purse, a nervous habit she’d thought she’d outgrown. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across the worn carpet. This felt surreal. The last time she’d seen Mark, he was shoving her into a muddy puddle on the playground. Now, she was here, about to confide in him.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as the door opened. Mark, older but still recognizable, gestured her inside with a smile. "Sarah? Come in, come in." His voice was calm, measured. She managed a weak smile in return, feeling the muscles in her face ache with the effort.

He sat in a large, leather armchair. She took the offered seat across from him, legs suddenly heavy and clumsy. His office was surprisingly… normal. Soft lighting, a bookshelf, a water carafe on a small table. Yet, everything felt tilted, slightly off-kilter.

"So," he began, his gaze steady, "what brings you in today?" She swallowed, suddenly struggling to breathe.