Shayla
I swallow hard, bracing myself for whatever she's about to say. Dr. Logan steps fully into the room, closing the door behind her with a decisive click. She has several papers in her hand, the results from the preliminary tests. My nerves feel like frayed wires, each one humming with tension. All my half-formed hopes and fears flutter in my chest—if I'm not pregnant, what is going on with my body?
Dr. Logan sets the papers on the small rolling table beside the chair.
"Shayla," she says, her voice quiet yet steady. "We have your initial blood work back."
She pushes her glasses up on her nose, a habitual gesture that makes me realize she's just as human and prone to small nervous tics as anyone else. Somehow, that makes me breathe a tiny bit easier.
"First," she continues, "I want to address the pregnancy test. The beta-hCG levels in your blood seems indicates you are not pregnant. But unfortunately, I don't know what is going on."
