“Between what’s real,” he said slowly, “and what you want to believe.”
I felt something inside me twist, not physically, not exactly, but close enough that I instinctively placed a hand over my stomach
For a brief moment, I thought I felt it again, that same subtle movement, like something shifting just out of reach of certainty
I stepped back
“Stay away from me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper now
He didn’t follow, didn’t try to stop me as I turned and walked away, faster this time, almost running by the time I reached my front door
Inside, the house felt different, like the air had changed, like something invisible had settled into the corners while I was gone
I locked the door, even though it was the middle of the day
I stood there for a long moment, my back against the wood, my hand still pressed against my stomach, waiting, listening
Nothing
No movement
No sound
Just my own breathing, uneven and shallow
I went to sit down but couldn’t stay still, stood up again almost immediately, pacing without direction, without purpose
The boy’s words kept repeating, not loudly, not like a shout, but persistently, like a quiet voice that refused to leave
Ask them to look carefully
You won’t get another chance
Choose
I picked up my phone, hesitated, then opened the contact for my doctor
My thumb hovered over the call button longer than it should have
I didn’t want to sound paranoid
I didn’t want to sound ridiculous
But more than that, I didn’t want to ignore something that might matter
I pressed call
The appointment was set for the next morning
That night, I barely slept
Every time I closed my eyes, I felt that same imagined movement, or maybe it wasn’t imagined anymore, I couldn’t tell, I didn’t trust myself enough to decide
Jordan slept beside me, steady and calm, unaware of the storm building quietly inside my head
At some point, I turned to him, watching his face in the dim light, thinking about how simple everything had felt just days ago
How certain
How normal
I almost woke him up, almost told him everything, but the words wouldn’t come out the way I needed them to
How do you explain something you don’t even understand yourself?
How do you ask someone to believe something that sounds impossible even to you?
So I stayed silent
Morning came slowly
At the hospital, everything felt routine on the surface, the receptionist smiling, the nurse asking standard questions, the familiar smell of disinfectant in the air
I answered automatically, my voice calm, my hands folded neatly in my lap, like I was just another patient with nothing unusual to report
But inside, everything was tight, waiting
