Bren
I sat in the doctor’s office, swinging my legs back and forth as I listened to the ticking of the clock on the wall behind me. In truth, the clock—along with my healthy sense of panic—was the only thing keeping me awake. I was still jet-lagged from the plane ride home yesterday, and though I’d briefly considered canceling the appointment, I knew it had nothing to do with my exhaustion.
No, it had to do with fear. A dark shadow of terror had taken root deep within me, coloring every one of my thoughts, and ever since we’d touched back down in the city, it had grown in strength, threatening to choke me from the inside out. At my age, the window for having children was already getting smaller. I knew that.
But to be having irregular periods at thirty?
It couldn’t be a good sign.
