Gemotions

The stark fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor seemed to hum with an oppressive energy. Amelia’s jaw was set as she gripped the offending paperwork tighter. Her medical file, showcasing a lifetime of allergies and ailments, was undeniably *not* hers. It belonged to Mr. Henderson, a retired accountant with a penchant for tweed and complaining. Her file, now in his hands, likely detailed her perfectly healthy lifestyle and the marathon she ran every year.

She strode towards the reception desk, her steps echoing on the polished floor. It was a long walk from her own checkup, but the injustice of the situation made her chest feel tight. "Excuse me," she announced, her voice resonating with an uncharacteristic sharpness. "There seems to have been an error with my records."

The receptionist, a young woman with a bored expression, barely glanced up. Amelia explained the situation, her words carefully chosen. Mr. Henderson's life, and therefore his treatment, hinged on the right information. This had to be fixed, immediately.