My name is Mia. Twenty-three. I’ve been putting off this appointment for months because the thought of it made my stomach twist in a weird mix of nerves and something I didn’t want to name. But the sharp pain in my lower belly kept coming back, worse every time I got my period, so I finally booked it. Just a quick check-up.
In and out. That’s what I told myself in the car on the way here.
The waiting room smells like antiseptic and old magazines. I fill out the clipboard forms, hand them back, sit with my legs crossed tight under the thin paper gown they gave me. The nurse calls my name. I follow her down the hall, heart thumping louder than it should.
Dr. Carter is waiting inside exam room 4. Tall. Late thirties maybe. Dark hair short on the sides, longer on top, sleeves rolled up to
