Evelyn locked the door the moment she returned to her room.
The soft click echoed louder than it should have as it felt final and absolute. She pressed her back against the wood, fingers trembling as they slid down the latch, as if checking it twice might keep the world from breaking through. Her knees weakened, and she sank slowly to the floor, skirts pooling around her like spilled ink.
The word repeated in her head, reminding her of what was really happening. It was dull at first, then sharper with every breath she took.
Dr. Lorenzo’s voice still lingered in her ears, careful, gentle, almost apologetic as he explained what her body had already been trying to tell her. The missed cycles. The nausea. The fatigue she had brushed aside as grief and exhaustion. He hadn’t needed instrument
