9. Katya

The clinic smells of antiseptic and clean linens, the air thick with the sterile atmosphere that’s meant to put people at ease. But I’m far from calm. I sit on the examination table, my fingers gripping the edge of the padded surface, trying to keep my thoughts in check.

The healer, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, finishes her check-up, her hands gentle as she measures and prods.

“You’re healthy, Luna,” she says softly, smiling in an attempt to reassure me. “The baby’s fine.”

Those words should be a relief, but they do little to ease the knot of tension that’s been coiled tight in my chest for weeks. I can barely focus on the good news. All I can think about is the weight of everything on my shoulders.

“But,” she adds, her voice growing a little more serious, “you’re under a lot of stress. It’s not good for you, or the baby. You need to take it easy, Luna. Rest when you can.”

I manage a nod, though inside, I’m screaming. Take it easy? Rest? How am I supposed to do that when the e