Gemotions

The waiting room felt suffocating. Amelia traced circles on the worn fabric of the armchair, her leg bouncing a frantic rhythm against the floor. Every tick of the clock on the wall amplified the tremor in her hands. She was scheduled for a consultation, a desperate attempt to untangle the knots in her life, but the prospect of opening up to a stranger filled her with dread.

Then, the door opened, and a voice she hadn’t heard in twenty years cut through the air. "Amelia? Come on in." The voice, smooth and practiced, belonged to Mark, the bane of her childhood. He stood in the doorway, his once-feral features softened by age, a gentle smile gracing his lips. Amelia's breath hitched, the carefully constructed composure she had maintained for weeks shattering in an instant.

"I... I think I'm in the wrong place," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.