(Amelia)
The symptoms started around the fifteen day mark, though I didn't let myself call them symptoms at first.
I was a doctor. I knew better than to diagnose myself off a wave of nausea at the nurses' station, off the way the smell of the break room coffee turned my stomach when it never had before. Tired meant tired. Off meant a long stretch of shifts. I told myself the ordinary things a person tells herself, and I kept telling them until the morning I stood up too fast in a patient's room and had to catch the rail.
Liam caught my elbow. "Mia?"
"Stood up too fast. I'm fine."
He looked at me the way he looked at a chart that didn't add up. He didn't say anything. But he watched me a beat longer than he needed to, and I turned away before he could see whatever was on my face.
Beca
