17. Sametra
I was pulling into the medical plaza parking lot when I heard the familiar wail of sirens in the distance.
My body tensed up automatically, muscle memory from ten years of dropping everything and running toward danger.
The sound grew louder, and I found myself counting, two engines, an ambulance, maybe a ladder truck.
Structure fire, probably residential based on the response.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel as the convoy flew past on the main road, lights flashing. Without thinking, I’d already started calculating response times, wondering about water pressure in that area, hoping my crew, my former crew, had enough manpower for whatever they were walking into.
“Shit,” I whispered, realizing how much I missed it. The rush, the teamwork, the knowledge that what you did mattered. Sitting in classrooms talking about theories felt important for my future, but it didn’t give me the same adrenaline hit as running into a burning building did.
I sat there for a moment, watching other cars pull in and out of the parking lot, normal people going to normal doctor’s appointments for normal reasons.
They probably had no idea what it felt like to run toward danger while everyone else ran away, or the weight of knowing that someone’s worst day was just another Tuesday for you.
My phone rang, Malik’s contact photo lighting up the screen, that picture I’d taken of him sleeping peacefully in my bed, looking completely content. We’d been back a few days, and I had to say I missed Alabama.
“Hey baby, yes, I’m on my way in.”
“You alright? You sound upset about something.”
“I just miss it sometimes. You know, working and fighting fires. Don’t get me wrong, I’d much rather be safe, but I miss it.”
“I feel that. Tonight, after dinner, we can take a ride.”
“On the motorcycle?”
“On the motorcycle. We can run our first date back. I love you and call me when you’re done.”
“I love you, too. Have a good session.”
I couldn’t stop smiling as I disconnected the call and walked into Dr. Cole’s office. He knew I was an adrenaline junkie. I loved that he would do anything for me.
I settled into the waiting room chair and decided to scroll through the pictures from Alabama on my phone.
There was one of me and Yolanda in the kitchen, both of us covered in flour from making pies from scratch for the cookout.
Another of Malik and Samaj at the cookout, deep in conversation under that old oak tree.
And my finally my favorite, all four of us on the front porch before we left.
“We look good together,” I whispered to myself, stopping on a picture of me and Malik under the tree at his mom’s house. He had his arms wrapped around me from behind, nuzzling my neck. I looked happy. Really, genuinely happy in a way I hadn’t seen in my own face in a while.
The weekend had been perfect. More than perfect.
Yolanda had welcomed me and Samaj like we shared DNA, and watching Malik in his element, relaxed, surrounded by people who loved him, had shown me a side of him I’d fallen even deeper in love with.
The way his cousins teased him, the way he lit up telling stories about his childhood, the way he’d looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching.
He had shown me more than ever that he was here to stay.
And that reassurance would carry me each day.
“Sametra Andrews?” the nurse called, breaking me out of my reverie.
I slipped my phone back into my purse and stood, still smiling from the warmth of Alabama. I followed her through the hallway, unaware that everything I’d wrapped myself in was about to start unraveling.
First, the bathroom, for the urine sample. Then the scale. I’d gained a little weight, but being loved the way Malik loved me would do it. I smiled to myself.
She moved quickly after that, drawing blood and updating my chart.
I was here because my period had disappeared again.
It was never regular but the hot flashes, lack of energy, and hormonal rollercoaster had all become a lot for me.
At thirty-seven, I feared I was in my perimenopausal stage.
And honestly, I was ready for the answers, whatever they were.
“Dr. Cole will be right in,” the nurse said, closing the door behind her.
I settled onto the examination table and got back to replaying moments from the trip. The fucking under the fireworks, the family cookout, the way Samaj and Malik seemed to double down on being besties. For the first time in seventeen years, I had a partner, a teammate, the yin to my yang.
My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. Unknown number, but local area code.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Andrews? This is Janet from St. Ambrose Memorial. We need you to come in for a meeting regarding Dr. Malik Holloway.”
The words hit me like ice water. “I’m sorry, what? Is everything okay? Did something happen to him?”
“We just need to discuss some matters with you. Can you be here within the hour?”
My hands started shaking. “What kind of matters? I don’t understand. Is this about medical bills? Insurance?”
“We’ll explain everything when you arrive. I’d rather not say over the phone. Please ask for Janet Morrison in Human Resources.”
The line went dead, leaving me staring at my phone in shock. Human Resources?
The door opened, and Dr. Cole walked in with a smile that quickly faded when she saw my face.
“Sametra? Everything okay?”
I barely heard her. All I could think about was that phone call, the formal tone in the woman’s voice, the word “reports” echoing in my head.
What the hell was happening?
I tried to focus as my doctor told me my blood results and completed my check-up, but all I could think about was that phone call and why my life felt like it was being impacted by another crash. Dr. Cole’s voice seemed to fade into background noise as my mind spiraled through worst-case scenarios.
“—and everything looks good, Sametra. Any questions about what we discussed?”
I blinked, realizing I hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I’m having trouble focusing. I heard you say vitamins. I need to add vitamins.”
She gave me a concerned look. “Are you sure you’re okay? We can reschedule if you need to.”
“No, I’m fine. Just, sorry. Can you say it again?”
Dr. Cole glanced down at her chart, then back at me with a soft smile. “Your bloodwork is solid. No signs of early menopause. In fact, your hormone levels indicate the opposite.”
I blinked. “So… not menopause? Not even early?”
“Not even close. Your body’s shifting, but not in the way you thought.”
I gave a nervous laugh. “Okay. That’s good news.”
She paused, thoughtful. “I’ll want to see you again in four weeks.”
“Right. Okay. Thank you,” I mumbled, grabbing my purse like it weighed ten pounds.
“Sametra,” she said, more gently this time. “Whatever’s going on, try not to stress. It’s especially important right now.”
I nodded out of habit, not comprehension. My thoughts were still stuck on the unknown number, the voice from Human Resources, the pit forming in my stomach.
“Right. I’ll be careful,” I said, halfway out the door.
I didn’t even catch the look she gave me—something between confusion and concern, like she wanted to say more but knew I wasn’t listening.
I was already gone.
I was halfway to my car before I realized I’d completely zoned out during the entire appointment.
Whatever she’d told me about my results, it had gone in one ear and out the other.
I’d just have to read it when she sent a recap through the patient portal.
All I could think about was getting to the hospital and finding out what the hell was going on.
The drive to St. Ambrose Memorial Hospital felt like the longest twenty minutes of my life. My hands gripped the steering wheel as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Was the insurance not covering his fee? Why would they need me specifically? Why couldn’t they just call Malik directly?
The more I thought about it, the more anxious I became. The woman on the phone had sounded so formal, so serious. What if something had happened to Malik at work? What if there was some kind of emergency and they needed to reach his next of kin? But wouldn’t they have said that?
By the time I pulled into the hospital parking lot, my heart was racing, and my palms were sweating. I sat in my car for a moment, trying to calm myself down before walking into whatever situation was waiting for me inside.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that my perfect weekend in Alabama was about to become a distant memory, though I had no idea why.
The walk to the HR department felt endless, my heels clicking against the polished floor, making me question my choice. These cute, heeled sandals were only making my heart beat faster and announcing my presence to everyone. I followed the signs until I made it to the door labeled, Human Resources.
Embarrassing.
“Sametra Andrews,” I told the receptionist, my voice steadier than I felt.
“Please have a seat. Janet will be right with you.”
The waiting area was decorated in muted blues and grays, probably meant to be calming, but only made me more anxious. I prayed that this was just about insurance or billing. And not over us. My mind went blank. I prayed I was overthinking everything.
“Ms. Andrews?” A middle-aged Black woman in a navy suit appeared beside me. “I’m Janet Morrison. Thank you for coming in so quickly.”
I followed her into a conference room where another woman sat at a large table surrounded by manila folders. My stomach dropped.
“This is Rebecca Chen from our legal department,” Janet said as we sat down. “We appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”
“Can someone please tell me what this is about?” I asked, my patience finally snapping. “Your phone call was pretty vague.”