The full enormity of what the doctor had said didn’t hit Clara until she’d pushed through the sliding doors and the hospital airlock sighed closed behind her. She walked halfway across the car park before her knees gave a small wobble, and she stopped, blinking at the rows of silver cars that all looked the same.
Inside the consulting room, she’d nodded, asked sensible questions, even thanked the doctor. Outside, her mind had gone blank. The words still rang in her ears:“Nothing sinister… premature menopause… irreversible.”
She reached her car, fumbling with her keys, and slid into the driver’s seat. The quiet thud of the door shutting seemed to trap all the air out of her lungs. For a moment she just sat there, palms flat on the steering wheel, staring through the windscreen at the heavy grey clouds bunching above the hospital.
One tear broke loose, rolling down her cheek. Then another. She swiped at them impatiently, as though that would wipe away the diagnosis too.
So that was it. Confirmed. Her blood tests had shown a lack of the hormones they needed. No treatment, no second chance. The finality sat like a weight in her stomach.
Her thoughts flicked, unbidden, to three years earlier – back when she and her ex were still pretending things were fine. Three years together, and she’d thought she knew how life would go: move in, marry, kids. The ordinary dream. But instead, she’d spent weekends timing meals around the football, listening to him argue about offside decisions with the telly. She’d tried to join in, to care, but somehow sport always won.
Until the month her period stopped. She’d thought – just for a heartbeat – maybe she was pregnant. The test had said no. Back then, she’d brushed it off.
Now she knew better.
She started the engine, the sound harsh and too loud in the small space. Her tears came faster, blurring the road signs as she turned out onto the main road towards Glenbriar.
How could she even think about dating again, knowing this? How could she tell someone –anyone– that her body had closed that door already?
She gripped the wheel tighter, jaw set. She’d always told herself she was fine on her own. Strong. Independent. But that little voice inside whispered otherwise. What if no one ever wanted her again – not really wanted her – once they knew?
The thought hit harder than she expected. It wasn’t just about children. It was about being left behind. About not being enough. Rain began to fall, spattering against the windscreen. She’d already lost to TV sport. What next? Maybe these feelings were irrational, but they’d formed a mental block that she couldn’t get past.
One positive about her appointment was that it had taken her away from school and inspection chaos for the morning. She’d barely set foot through the doors into the main corridor howeverwhen she saw the signs of unmistakable disruption. And with Max Lyndell in the centre, she didn’t waste any time in hurrying over.
‘What’s going on here?’ she said.
‘I swear, it wasn’t my fault this time!’ Max exclaimed.
‘Yes, Miss Morgan, it was him!’ Another boy in the group chimed in, jabbing a finger at Max, who shoved him right back.
‘Naw, it wasn’t,’ another said. ‘I saw him and—’
Clara held up her hands, trying to calm the gaggle of boys gathered around her – all taller than her. ‘One at a time. I can’t hear a word if you’re all talking over each other.’
They all burst out yammering at the same time again.
‘What is all the noise about?’ came a deep voice, and Clara raised her eyes to see Sam approaching. He had such a commanding tone that all the boys went quiet. And just the sight of a friendly face after the morning she’d had, made her want to weep. ‘Keep it down, please. There’s no need to—’
He stopped mid-sentence as Clara peeked out from behind the wall of boys and gave him a wave.
Sam blinked, his bright blue eyes widening. ‘My apologies, Miss Morgan, I didn’t see you there.’
She couldn’t help grinning. ‘No worries.’
Max snickered and nudged one of his mates. ‘It’s because she’s so short.’
Sam shot him a look. ‘There’s no need to be rude, Max.’
Max shrugged. ‘I’m just telling the truth.’
Sam crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. ‘That’s no excuse in this case. Mind your manners.’
The boys stifled snickers as Sam gave Clara an apologetic look, then turned on his heel, and went back to speaking to a man Clara recognised as one of the inspectors.
Max leaned in to Clara, lowering his voice conspiratorially, ‘He well fancies you.’
Clara raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Max. Mr Addison is just polite.’
