The gurney jolted as it crossed the threshold, metal rattling softly as it was guided into the private examination room. Evelyn’s breath caught, sharp and shallow, her fingers curling into the thin hospital blanket as if it could anchor her. Fluorescent light washed over her, too bright, too clean, flattening everything into clinical clarity. The smell of antiseptic pressed into her senses, sharp and unmistakable.
A nurse murmured her name, confirming details she already knew by heart—date of birth, allergies, medications—but Evelyn’s attention snagged on the door swinging shut behind them.
Closed.
Contained.
Examined.
Decided for.
The room felt smaller once the door clicked into place. Machines hummed softly, indifferent, measuring things she could not feel but would soon be told ma
