Gemotions

A tremor ran through Amelia as she read the nameplate: "Brenda Larson, MA, LPC." *Brenda Larson?* The Brenda Larson. The girl who’d once tripped her in the cafeteria, sending her spaghetti and meatballs flying. A therapist? Amelia’s lips curled into a thin line.

She'd booked the appointment under a false name, a tactic that brought a strange sense of satisfaction. The reception area was sterile, filled with soothing music and plants that felt offensively healthy. Amelia gripped her purse tighter, relishing the thought of the encounter.

The door opened, and Brenda Larson, looking older but still sharp-featured, called out her alias. Amelia rose, forcing a smile that felt tight and unnatural, and walked into the office.