Colt’s grip on my hand tightens, anchoring me, but all I feel is the ringing in my ears and the thunder of my heart trying to break free from my chest.
I stare ahead, unblinking.
What does that mean?
What does thatactuallymean?
And then it hits me.
Like a freight train.
Ican’thave children.
Notever.
And just like that, the part of me that still believed in happy endings… dies.
When I look at Colt, tears glisten in his eyes. That’s all the confirmation I need.
This is real.
This is as bad as I think it is.
The doctor’s still talking, but I can’t hear a damn word. Everything slows down, like the world’s submerged in water, but at the same time, it’s spinning too fast.
Out of control.
And I’m barely hanging on.
“Dee, we performed a hysterectomy,” the doctor says, his voice distant and muffled. “You may experience menopausal symptoms in the coming months, but the nurses will give you some brochures to help you understand what to expect.”
Brochures?
He’s giving me pamphlets for the end of everything I ever dreamed of.
The words slam into me.
My throat dries.
The air in the room disappears.
I’m choking onnothing.
I shake my head violently, trying to reject the truth, trying to push it away.
No.
No, no, no—this can’t be right.I misheard him.
I have to have misheard him.
“Are you saying I can’t have children?” I whisper, barely able to form the words through my sob.
Colt exhales sharply. His eyes don’t leave mine, and in them, I see it—confirmation.
Finality.
The doctor grimaces, and that’s it.
