“And you’ll need to discontinue oral contraceptives,” he adds. “If you’re capable of conceiving naturally, there’s a chance pregnancy could occur unexpectedly once hormones are regulated.”
The irony isn’t lost on me.
Infertility might be possible, but so might accidental pregnancy.
My head spins.
“The other symptoms?” Mercs asks quietly.
“With treatment, many will ease,” Dr. Wakefield explains. “But this is a lifelong condition. You’ll need to learn how your body responds. Some days your energy will be lower. You may experience flare-ups if levels fluctuate.”
My heart sinks further. “Will this affect performing?”
He studies me carefully. “Only you will know your limits. You may need to adjust, incorporate rest periods, and reduce high-impact choreography if fatigue sets in. I don’t see a reason you’d have to stop performing entirely. But you may need to listen to your body more closely.”
Tears spill before I can stop them. “I’m such an idiot,” I whisper. “I should’venevertaken that drink.”
Mercs’ grip on my hand turns fierce. “You arenotan idiot,” he says firmly. “You don’t even remember that night. And I know you, if you took that drink, it was because you were trying to defuse a situation. This isnotyour fault.”
His certainty steadies something inside me.
I wipe at my cheeks. “When do we start treatment?”
The doctor opens a drawer, removes a small box and a syringe. The sight of the needle sends a shiver down my spine.
“We can begin immediately,” he says. “Either you administer the injections daily, or someone you trust can.”
My stomach flips.
Before I can speak, Mercs clears his throat. “Can you show me how to do it?”
I turn to him sharply. “Mercs…”
Dr. Wakefield looks between us. “If Effa is comfortable with that arrangement.”
“Are you sure?” I ask softly. “That’s a big responsibility.”
He gives me that half-smile that melts me every time. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” His voice lowers. “And it’sbasically playing doctor. I’ve always wanted to boss you around in a clinical setting.”
A reluctant laugh escapes me.
The doctor discreetly hides his smile as Mercs moves around the desk, attentive and focused, while the doctor explains dosage, injection sites, and technique.
I watch him absorb every detail like it’s sacred.
Like I’m sacred.
The weight in my chest shifts. It’s still there, still heavy with everything this means for my body, my career, my future, but it’s no longer crushing.
Because he’s here.
And apparently, he’s going to stab me with a needle every day.
I swallow.
This changes things.
Not just medically.
