I shake my head before I even realize I’m doing it.
“I—I need a minute,” I manage to say.
She pauses, studying me quietly. “Of course. Take all the time you need. I’ll be back in a bit to check on you.”
When she leaves, the door clicks shut behind her, the sound echoing like a gunshot.
The silence that follows is deafening.
I stare at the floor until it blurs.
My fingers are trembling, my chest tight with something too big to name—fear, grief, guilt, love, all tangled together.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I wasn’t supposed tofeelthis way.
I came here to end it…to take control and fix what has already spiraled out of my hands.
But now that I’m here, sitting on this cold table, surrounded by the hum of fluorescent lights and medical equipment, all I can think about is a future I had no idea I ever wanted.
One with tiny hands, sleepy mornings, and a laugh that might sound a little like mine.
Or maybe theirs.
The paper rustles violently as I stand, my knees weak.
The door feels miles away, but somehow I make it through it, out into the hall, out past the receptionist’s sympathetic smile that I can’t return.
The air hits me like a slap.
It’s sharp and biting, slicing through my lungs and waking me up all at once.
The city moves around me in blurs of motion with cars honking, people brushing past me, snippets of conversation.
Everything is loud, chaotic,alive, and I feel like I’m falling apart in the middle of it.
I stumble until I find a patch of brick to lean against, the rough surface biting into my shoulder through my coat.
The scent of cinnamon and balsam wraps around me.
Across the way is a small park with trees decorated in blinking lights, beyond that a small skating rink with a couple looping hand-in-hand around it.
My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop my phone when I pull it out. And just like that, the tears break free.
I scroll through my contacts, searching for something steady, something safe.
My thumb hesitates only for a second before it taps onDad.
He answers, his voice warm but tired. “Hey, kiddo. Everything alright? Thought you’d be in class by now. You playing hooky?”
“No,” I choke out, my voice a wreck. “No, it’s not.”
“What’s the matter, honey?”
I press a hand over my mouth, trying to hold in a sob that still escapes anyway. “Dad, I—I messed up. I don’t know what to do.”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end, then the faint rustle of him moving, maybe standing, his voice cutting sharper with concern. “Noelle? Slow down, honey. What’s going on?”
