I answered every question honestly, my handwriting getting messier as I went.
When I finished, I brought the clipboard back to the desk.
The receptionist smiled again. “Thank you. Someone will call you back in just a moment.”
I sat back down.
Waited.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Amai.
Good luck today.
I stared at the message.
He remembered.
Of course he remembered.
I typed back:Thanks.
Then deleted it.
Typed:I’m nervous.
Deleted that too.
Finally settled on:I’m here.
Three dots appeared immediately.
You’ll be fine. Call me if you need anything.
I didn’t respond.
Just locked my phone and shoved it back in my purse.
“Truth Renois?”
I looked up.
A nurse stood in the doorway, holding a tablet.
“That’s me.”
“Come on back.”
The exam room was small and sterile—white walls, a paper-covered table, a rolling stool, a counter lined with medical supplies I didn’t want to look at too closely.
The nurse took my vitals—blood pressure, pulse, weight.
“Dr. Beaumont will be in shortly,” she said, then left.
I sat on the table, the paper crinkling beneath me, and tried not to think about what was coming next.
The door opened.
