My heart thudded like a trapped bird against her ribcage as I sat in the sterile, cold waiting room. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights above buzzed in my ears, blending with the sterile smell of disinfectant. My mother sat next to me, a silent pillar of resolve. She glanced at me, eyes sharp, no emotion reflecting in them.“It’s for the best, Cora,” my mother said, her voice steady but lacking warmth.I nodded absently, fingers twisting the edge of my sweater. The room felt tight, pressing in around me as if the air was thinning. When the nurse called my name, I stood on legs that felt like they could give way at any second. My mother followed, her heels clicking in precise, determined steps.The OBGYN, a woman in her late forties with kind eyes, greeted them with practiced calm. I sat down, feeling the crinkle of the paper on the exam chair beneath her. The doctor spoke gently, going through the necessary questions, her voice a metronome of facts and routine. My mind started to
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