203

Sophia

The hospital corridor smelled of disinfectant and fear. My hands trembled so much I could barely hold my coat against my chest. Bright walked beside me, jaw clenched, eyes fixed straight ahead as if the air I breathed depended on his concentration.

“Everything will be fine,” he murmured, but his voice sounded more tense than reassuring.

I couldn’t answer. The memory of the fall played over and over: the slip at the entrance, the sharp blow to my hip, the instant the pain shot through my belly. Since then, a foreboding feeling had been strangling my throat. Every step toward the ultrasound room felt like walking on thin ice.

The nurse told me to lie down. The stretcher was icy; the sheet crackled as I settled in. Bright stayed beside me and held my hand, though his palm was as sweaty as mine. The doctor, a man with gray hair and attentive eyes, entered with a professional smile.

“Let’s see how our little traveler is doing,” he said while preparing the gel for the ultrasound.

Whe