Kya sat quietly in the clinic’s small examination room, the paper sheet beneath her crinkling every time she shifted. Demi waited outside with Matthew and Jim, giving her privacy, but Kya could still feel the weight of their presence through the door.
The nurse finished taking her vitals—blood pressure slightly low, pulse a little fast—and then drew blood for routine labs. Kya expected nothing unusual. She was tired, stressed, and had barely slept the night before the interview. That alone could explain the nausea.
But when the doctor returned, chart in hand, her expression was gentle. Too gentle.
“Kya,” she said softly, “your hemoglobin is low. We’ll address that with supplements. But there’s something else.”
Kya blinked. “Something else?”
The doctor smiled. “You’re pregnant.”
The w
