“Don’t mind at all.”
Dr. Park hands me a plastic cup, and I take it like it’s a pencil for a school test I’m about to ace. I head down the hall, hit the bathroom, and do my business. When that’s all done, I hand the sample off to the waiting nurse and head back to theexam room.
And there I sit, each minute seeming to take far, far too long.
When Dr. Park returns, she’s wearing a look that doesn’t quite match my hope of her telling me I’m just tired and need to get some sleep. She closes the door behind her quietly and sits down on the little stool across from the table.
“Oh no,” I say. “What’s wrong?”
A small smile forms on her lips. “Nothing at all. Just some news I’m guessing you might not be expecting.”
My blood runs cold. “Yes?”
“Gabriella, you’re pregnant.”
For a second, the word doesn’t fit inside my head. It bounces around, like she just said something foreign. Then it lands. My throat tightens, and I laugh—too loud, too sharp.
“Pregnant? No way. That’s impossible! I mean, I’m on the pill. And I’ve only had sex once in, like, a year. More than that.”
“One time is all it takes,” she says. “And what pill are you on?”
“Sprintec. And I take it every day.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Every day?”
Silence hangs in the air for several long moments.
“Well, almost every day, when I can remember. Okay, sometimes I forget to take it. Or I take it late, and—God, I sound like an idiot.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t, not at all. It happens more often than you think, especially with busy women like you.”
I want to argue or negotiate or something, anything. But the words don’t come. The walls of the exam room seem to lean closer, the hum of the overhead lights suddenly too loud.
“I can’t be pregnant. No. That’s… I have adeadline.”
Dr. Park gives a soft, sympathetic laugh. “Deadlines are flexible. Biology isn’t.”
“Not this deadline.”
I press my palms against my face, taking in deep breaths through my fingers. My mind races through practical details—timelines, dates, logistics.
The night I marched into Sasha’s office flashes like a lightning strike in my mind. I think about his hands in my hair, his voice.
A numb ache fills my chest.
Dr. Park places her hand on my knee, pulling me back from spiraling. “Gabriella, I can tell this is a shock. But you don’t have to make any big decisions right now. Let’s take it one step at a time.
“Right.” I already feel a little calmer. “One step.”
“How about this—do you have someone to talk to? Family, partner, friend?”
“No family,” I say, suddenly feeling very TMI. “Been in foster care since my mom died when I was ten.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says. “How about friends?”
“There’s Angie… but this would be so much to dump on her. Other than that, work is everything. Pathetic, huh?”
“Not even a little. I’m sure your friend would love to know. But tell her at your pace. No need to rush into this. How about the father? Is he in the picture?”
