The Prozac.
“I—I never really had one,” I admit, my voice shaky. “It’s been weird. I’ve been on meds, and nothing’s felt normal.”
Ada’s eyes flick between mine, sharp and assessing. “Isabella,” she says carefully, “have you had sex in the last few weeks? Months?”
Heat floods my face. My throat goes tight. “Yes,” I answer, the word barely leaving my lips.
Ada doesn’t look surprised, but she does press on, her voice firm. “You didn’t use protection, did you?”
I shake my head, feeling small, feeling stupid. “I—no,” I admit, swallowing against the lump rising in my throat. “I mean, I never really thought I had to.”
Ada’s brows knit together. “Why?”
I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I grip the stall wall. “I was told when I was younger that I probably couldn’t get pregnant. That it was… almost impossible.” My voice wavers. “I’ve never had a regular cycle. My doctors said the chances wereso low that I—I just never thought…”
I trail off, because what’s the point of finishing the sentence? The evidence is right in front of me, staining my thighs, my jeans, my hands.
Ada exhales, rubbing her forehead. “Jesus, Isabella.”
Ada inhales sharply. “Okay. Alright. Listen to me; you might be having a miscarriage.”
The word slams into me like a punch to the chest.
I shake my head, gripping the stall wall for balance. “That’s not possible. I—I can’t be…”
Pregnant.
My whole body is trembling, soaked in cold sweat, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
And then, the blood.
It’s not just spotting; it’s gushing, dark and thick, pooling beneath me, staining everything. The metallic scent fills the small bathroom, making my stomach twist violently. Another wave of nausea slams into me, and I barely have time to brace myself before I’m dry-heaving, my body convulsing with the force of it.
My lower back aches with a deep, unrelenting throb, the pain radiating down into my legs. Every muscle in my body is tensed, locked in place as another brutal cramp seizes me. It’s different from anything I have ever experienced—this is deeper, rawer, like my body is trying to expel something.
The pressure intensifies.
It feels like a weight pressing down, like something is shifting, moving inside me. My hands fly to my stomach instinctively, but there’s nothing I can do. My body has already decided.
Another contraction grips me, and this time, I scream. I can’t stop it. The pain is unbearable, sharp and unrelenting, worse than anything I’ve ever felt. And then, I feel something pass.
A rush of more warmth.
My breath catches in my throat as I look down between my trembling thighs. My vision tunnels, my mind refusing to process what I’m seeing. A mass, small, unmoving, slipping into the toilet bowl. The world tilts, nausea surging again as reality slams into me all at once.
I shake my head, gasping, chest heaving, my hands gripping the stall walls so hard my nails dig into the metal. This isn’t happening. Thiscan’tbe happening.
The pain doesn’t stop. Another wave of cramping, more blood, more ofmeleaving my body. My limbs feel weak, my skin ice cold, my vision blurring at the edges.
A strangled sob rips from my throat, raw and broken. I don’t even recognize the sound as my own. My body is still trembling, locked in the aftermath of pain and shock, but my mind, my mind is stuck, trapped in the sight before me.
I feel Ada’s hands on me, gripping my arms, her fingers pressing into my skin, grounding me. I don’t know when she moved closer, but she’s here, kneeling beside me on the dirty gas station floor, her breath shaky, her face tight with something unreadable.
I can’t breathe. My chest rises and falls too fast, too shallow. My vision swims.
I choke on another sob, my hands flying to my stomach, pressing against the empty space, the space that wasn’t supposed to be empty at all. I didn’t even know, and now, now it’s gone.
I let out a whimper, curling forward, as if that will somehow pull everything back inside, as if I can undo what just happened.