(Lena)
The waiting room was nothing like I remembered.
That wasn't entirely true. The chairs were the same. The magazines nobody read were still fanned out on the same low table. The receptionist behind the desk had the same professional smile she always had. Nothing had actually changed.
I had changed.
Cole sat beside me, his knee touching mine, scrolling through something on his phone without actually reading it. I could tell by the way his thumb moved too slowly, the way his eyes weren't quite tracking. He was doing the same thing I was doing, which was trying to look occupied while actually just waiting.
I had filled out the intake forms at the desk, updated my information, noted the positive home pregnancy tests and the date and the relevant history that the receptionist had alre
