Gemotions

Mark dragged himself through the doors of the hospital, the automatic doors sensing his arrival before he even realized he was near them. His limbs ached. Everything did. He hadn't felt truly rested in years. The weight of his responsibilities was a physical burden.

"Mr. Johnson, we need to talk," the doctor had said, his voice unusually somber. Now, in the sterile office, the truth was laid out. The wrong records. The wrong everything. His stomach lurched, a cold, sickening sensation.

He wanted to argue, to deny it all, but the words wouldn't come. He just sat there, staring at the printout. The doctor's words blurred into a cacophony of meaningless sounds. His body felt heavy, as though the air had become thick and dense, pressing him into the chair.