Because deep down, beneath the nausea and the fatigue and the confusion, something told her this wasn’t just a stomach bug.
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The smell of antiseptic and paper followed Lena into the doctor’s office, a scent that usually brought her comfort, routine, a sense that things were under control. Today, it only made her more aware of how fragile she felt, how slightly unsteady her legs were as she lowered herself onto the chair opposite the desk.
Doctor Carol smiled at her kindly, the same calm, professional smile she had worn while asking the routine questions earlier—about her sleep, her appetite, her stress levels—before sending her off for blood work and a urine sample.
Lena had answered automatically back then, on autopilot, convinced that this was nothing more than a stubborn stomach
