32. The clinic

I stand in front of the clinic. I stare at the door, nod, and start walking. “Here we go.”

As I walk inside, I look around. When I turn my head to the left a polite smile greets me. “What can I help you with?”

“Uhm,” I stammer. “I have an appointment.” I say as confident as I can.

“Name?”

Everything goes by in a blur, and before my mind can keep up I’m sitting in front of the doctor, a nurse taking notes while he talks.

“How far along are you?”

“Six weeks, or something.” He nods, typing something on his laptop. “And the dad?”

I shake my head, as if that is an answer, but he takes it anyway.

“Okay, since you are only 6 weeks we have a few options.”
He keeps talking, going step by step through everything. I nod, occasionally, but nothing he says sticks in my head.

My fingers fidgeting in my lap, my legs bouncing restlessly beneath the desk.

“I would advice you to chose the first option, it’s less invasive, you’ll recover quickly. It will almost be as if nothing happened.”

“Okay,”

“The nurse will give you a hospital gown and show you where you can change.”

“Right now? I thought I had to wait for at least a week.”

The doctor nods. “Normally yes, but… we make an exception for people in your situation. If you wait another week, the first option will no longer be medically possible.”

I nod, following the nurse down the hall, into a small changing room. “You can change here. When you are done you have to walk through the other door. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

She closes the door, and the tears start falling. Out of nowhere, or I just didn’t notice before. My hands tighten around the gown. I’m gasping, my lungs fighting against the air itself.

I drop the gown on the floor, unlock the door and run towards the exit.

I smack the doors open, gasping for air. Tears blurry my vision.

Each inhale sticks halfway, like I don’t have enough space in my chest. I keep swallowing, trying to ease the pressure building there, but it only tightens—choking without actually choking.

Move. Call someone. Just do something.

My hand drifts into my pocket and I pull out my phone. I scroll through my contacts, slowly, each name blurring slightly.

Then I see him—Bill.

My thumb hovers over his name. My chest tightens another notch. Without letting myself think about it too long, I press “call.”

He picks up after the first ring, as if he was waiting for me. “Evi?”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
I force a breath.
“Bill,” I manage. Just his name. It comes out mostly steady, except for the small crack at the end. He hears it anyway. He always does.

“Are you okay? Where are you?”
“No,” I whisper. “outside the clinic.”
Silence. I can practically see the crease forming between his eyebrows.

“I’m on my way.” He says, as if he can read my mind. My throat is too tight to answer, so I just nod even though he can’t see me.

When the call ends, I lower the phone slowly.
No sobbing. No dramatic collapse. Just this quiet, internal unraveling—my panic folding in on itself, silent and consuming.

I don’t know how long it takes him to get here. His touch brought me back to reality. My eyes snap up.

He just stands there. Looking at me. Worried. Not sure what to say or do.

People keep passing by but his presence changed something. People start stating. Walking slower.

Without saying a word he gently puts his arm around my waist and guides me away from the clinic.

What happens the next half hour goes by in a blur, and before I realize we are standing in my living door.

“Evi, say something please. You’re scaring me.”

I stare at his chest, tears running down my cheeks. “Are you in pain?” I shake my head.

He grabs my chin gently, tilting my head to make me look at him. “Evi, I need your help here. Tell me what to do.”

I close my eyes and more tears follow. His hand pulls away and I drop my head again.

He wrapped his arms around me and pulls me closer. I bury my face into his chest, his scent calming me almost instantly.

My breathing slows, a deep exhale escaping my lips. His arms around me tighten, his hand slowly caressing my back.

“Hey,” his voice is soft and warm. I pull away slightly, tilting my head to look at him. His hand finds my cheek, the softness of his touch making me close my eyes for a moment.

I lean into his palm, almost forgetting everything that has happened recently. I stand on my tippy toes, making myself taller and press my lips on his.

He lets me, for just a moment before he pulls away from me. “Evi,”
I lower my eyes. “Sorry,” I stammer.

“How are you feeling? What did the doctor say?” He asks, his hands leaving me. “You wanna sit down?”

I shake my head. “I couldn’t.” I stammer.
“You couldn’t?” I nod.
“Wait so that means..” I nod again. “Yes, I’m still pregnant.”

His eyes close, a sigh leaving his mouth in relieve.

“But now what?” I say, tears filling my eyes again, my voice shaky.

“We’ll figure something out.”

“But-“

“Hey,” he interrupts me. “I promise, okay?”