And then I felt it.
A dull, insistent ache low in my abdomen.
Not sharp. Not unbearable.
Justthere.
A reminder that something had been done to my body while I was unconscious.
I shifted slightly, testing the pain.
It didn’t get worse.
Just stayed—constant, heavy, like a bruise from the inside.
I closed my eyes.
Tried to remember how I’d gotten here.
The procedure room. Dr. Beaumont’s warm smile. The anesthesiologist’s voice telling me to relax.
The cold rushing through my veins.
And before that?—
Amai.
In the waiting room.
Watching me.
I opened my eyes again.
Stared at the ceiling tiles.
Fourteen eggs.
That’s what Dr. Beaumont said before the procedure.
We’re hoping for a good retrieval. Your hormone levels look excellent.
I wondered if they’d gotten them.
Wondered if right now, somewhere in this building, fourteen pieces of me were sitting in little dishes under bright lights.
Waiting.
The door opened.
A nurse stepped in—different from the one who’d prepped me earlier. Older, with kind eyes and scrubs covered in cartoon cats.
“Hey there,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” I said. My voice came out hoarse.
“That’s normal. The anesthesia takes a little while to wear off.” She checked the monitor and made a note on her clipboard. “Any pain?”
“A little. Down here.” I gestured vaguely toward my lower abdomen.
