clinic

Emilie’s POV

The clinic smelled like antiseptic and flowers someone had left to die in the corner.

A sad little bouquet sat by the window, petals drooping, their color drained like they’d been trying to hold on too long in a place meant for letting go.

I laid still. The sheets beneath me were stiff and sterile, their rough texture rubbing against my skin like paper. The gown they gave me barely clung to my shoulders.

I hadn’t bothered to fix it. Everything about me felt loose, frayed at the seams. I was cold and sweating all at once.

My body didn’t feel like mine.

Not anymore.

There was an ache low in my belly that pulsed like a second heartbeat, tight, sharp, then dull again. The bleeding had slowed, but every time I shifted, I swore I could feel something shifting inside me too. Something small. Something fragile. Something I was terrified to name.

The doctors had been vague, reassuring in a way that meant nothing.

“It could be stress.”

“The baby might be okay.”

“We won’t know any