Chapter 111: Am I Interrupting Something?
The smell of carne asada and roasted peppers clung to the brown paper bag in my hand, the grease staining through no matter how tightly I held it. Mexican food—my favorite cuisine. Comfort. Warmth. Something to disguise the heaviness in my chest after leaving the gynaecologist’s office. Her words still beat against my skull like a gavel: hard to conceive… years on the pill… might not be easy.
My fingers tightened on the bag as if squeezing it could silence the ache inside me. I still walked down the marble-lined hall to his office, balancing tacos and tamales like a peace offering. Maybe if I brought him something warm, I’d feel warm, too.
I paused, smoothed my blouse and my hair. Then I tried to school my face into something that wasn’t gloomy,
