Savannah
I clutched the thin hospital gown with both hands. My grip was tight, like I was holding onto something more than just cloth. I lay on the hospital bed, cold against my back, in the Neuroradiology room. The lights above hummed. I kept holding the gown as if it could shield me, not from the cold, but from everything I was hiding.
Inside me, fear and guilt were tangled together. They pulled at each other, each trying to take control. I closed my eyes for a second and tried to breathe.
“Stay still, Luna,” the doctor said.
His voice was steady. Calm. Like it was any other day. He wasn’t suspicious. He didn’t speak with judgment. He didn’t look at me like I was anything different from any other patient. Just another file. Another case.
But that name.
Luna.
It didn’t feel like a
