Spiraling uselessly is another one of those things. I can’t help the questions from rising up in my head, though. One after the next. Relentless, pointless. What if something’s wrong with the baby? What if she needs me and I’m out here in this parking lot like a f*****g stalker while she’s alone in there getting news that changes everything? What if she collapses in that sterile hallway and no one thinks to call me because, legally speaking, I’m a corpse?
I’m so caught up in meaningless hypotheticals that I almost miss something I cannot afford to miss: a man crossing the parking lot toward the clinic entrance.
Something about his gait sets off every alarm in my nervous system.
He’s tall, wearing a dark jacket with the collar flipped up even though it’s almost ninety degrees outside. Hi
