The heavy wooden door of the clinic swung open, and I practically marched straight into Dr. Andrew’s office, the heavy tension that had weighed on my shoulders for months completely dissolved.
Dr. Andrew looked up from a stack of medical parchments, his glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose. The clinic's private study was cluttered as always, the tall stone wall behind his desk lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowing with leather-bound texts, dried herbs, and rows of glass apothecary jars catching the dim sunlight. The moment he saw the triumphant glow on my face, he set his quill down, his eyes widening in immediate anticipation. "Your Grace? What is it? Is Liz—"
"She stood up, Andrew," I blurted out, a wide, unstoppable grin breaking across my face. "She stood up on her own
