Chapter 17 #2
I hold up a hand before she can speak. “I already know what you’re going to say. I was just so busy. I ran the urinalysis myself and had amoxicillin on hand.”
“Luna, I know how busy you get up there, but you still should have called me even if you couldn’t make it down here.
” She rolls the stool closer, removing her glasses to clean them, a gesture she does to gather her patience.
“Next time, call and send me the results so I can add them to your chart. I can prescribe something from that if needed.”
I nod, feeling like a scolded child.
She replaces her glasses, focusing on me with renewed intensity. “But that also raises another concern as to why you’re getting UTIs.”
I bite my lip. “I started a relationship a couple of months ago, after not being sexually active for over a year. I’m usually good about peeing after sex, but not always. And the relationship is new, so…” I trail off.
“You’re caught up in it, I get it. But if it keeps happening, there might be something more going on, and we should run some tests. Any worries about STIs?”
“No. We’re exclusive.”
At least I think we are. If I don’t count my indiscretion with Damien.
The clinical discussion feels surreal against the backdrop of what I’ve just learned. I rub my temples, trying to soothe the chaos in my head and the headache pounding behind my eyes.
“How could I not have known I was pregnant? I’m a doctor, for Christ’s sake.”
“A veterinarian,” she reminds me, her voice gentle but firm. “And six weeks is very early. Some nausea, maybe fatigue, subtle changes you might attribute to stress or your normal cycle. It’s very common not to realize.”
I nod, but the gesture feels mechanical. My mind is still reeling, trying to process this new reality.
“So what happens now? What do I need to do? Do I need a D I shouldn’t need reassurance about pain tolerance. But my brain won’t cooperate, my thoughts scattering before I can piece them together into anything coherent.
“The cramping can be significant. Rest when you need to. Use heating pads. Over-the-counter pain relievers should help.” The prescription pad tears with a soft ripping sound as she hands me the slip.
“This is for something stronger if you need it. Call me if the bleeding becomes severe or if you develop a fever. And no intercourse for at least two weeks, possibly longer. Your body needs time to heal.”
Two weeks.
How am I going to tell my wolf? He comes every night and never takes no for an answer. It’s part of our unspoken arrangement. I’m always available to him. Always his.
“Luna?” Dr. Ritchie’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Are you alright?”
My eyes snap back into focus, finding her concerned expression across the small room. “Sorry. Just thinking about logistics.”
“Logistics?” Her brow furrows.
“With my partner.” The word feels wrong for what he is to me. “He’s very persistent.”
Dr. Ritchie’s expression sharpens. The shift happens so fast I almost miss it. “Persistent as in he won’t respect your medical need to abstain?”
“No, no. It’s not like that. He would never…” Though would he? “I just meant that our relationship is very physical. It’s a big part of how we connect.”
“I see.” Her tone suggests she understands more than I’ve said. “Well, this isn’t optional, Luna. Your body needs time to heal. If your partner can’t understand and respect that, then—“
“He will. Of course he will.”
Even as I say it, my mind questions if it’s true. Will he understand? Will he stay away? Or will he simply take what he wants, as he always does?
“Good.” Dr. Ritchie studies me carefully. “Luna, it’s normal to have complex feelings about this, even if the pregnancy wasn’t planned. Some women experience grief, relief, and confusion, often all at once.”
“I don’t know what I feel.”
“That’s okay too.” She places a gentle hand on my arm. “Be patient with yourself. You’ve just received shocking news.”
“I never thought about having children.” I surprise myself with the confession. “Not seriously. My work has always been enough.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know.” I blink back unexpected tears. “It wasn’t real to me until this moment, and now… now it’s already gone.”
“Would you like to talk to someone? I can refer you to a counselor who specializes in pregnancy loss.”
I shake my head before she can finish. “I’ll be fine.” The lie comes easily, a reflex.
“It’s not always about ‘fine’ or ‘not fine.’ Sometimes it’s about having someone objective to process with. Someone who understands what you’re going through.”
“I just need some time.” I shift on the examination table, the paper crinkling beneath me. “And my friend, Maren, had one when we were in college, so I can talk to her if I need someone.”
“Take Dr. Mosier’s info anyway.” She plucks a business card from the holder on the counter. “And Luna? If there’s anything else going on, anything you want to talk about, I’m here.”
I slide off the table, eager to end this conversation.
“No. That’s okay. Thank you for fitting me in today.”
“Of course.” She moves to the supply cabinet and retrieves a tri-fold brochure, setting it on the chair next to my folded clothes.
“This has information about what’s typical after a miscarriage at six weeks.
The bleeding you’re experiencing now should gradually decrease, though some women have intermittent spotting.
Your body is doing what it needs to do. But certain symptoms shouldn’t be ignored.
Soaking through multiple pads in a short time, fever, dizziness that doesn’t improve, or pain that gets worse instead of better.
Any of those symptoms requires immediate medical attention. And Luna?”
I pause in reaching for my clothes. “Yes?”
“I say this purely out of concern as your doctor and, I hope, as something of a friend. Be careful with this relationship. Everyone deserves to be treated with care and respect, especially in their most vulnerable moments.” Her words carry weight, chosen with deliberate intent.
“Call me anytime. If your symptoms worsen, or if you just need to talk.”
“Thank you.” I don’t meet her eyes. “But really, everything’s fine.”
Except that nothing feels fine anymore.
Twenty minutes later, I sit in my car in the parking lot, keys in the ignition, but the engine is silent. My hands grip the steering wheel until my fingers ache.
A baby.
I was carrying a baby. His baby. The result of all those nights when he claimed me. Filled me. When he whispered dark, possessive things against my skin as he came inside me, over and over again. I never thought. I never worried.
How could I be so stupid?
“What would you have been?” I whisper to the void inside me.
Boy or girl? Would you have had those dark, piercing eyes of his? That cocky smile?
Would I have even been a good mother?
I try to imagine telling him. Will he laugh it off? Will he be furious? Or will he just say, “Lay back and spread your legs, little doe.”
Will this change anything? Will he even care, or am I just a body to him, a vessel for his pleasure? In all our time together, his face hidden behind that wolf mask, I’ve never known what he thinks or what he feels beyond desire and possession.
A sob escapes me, surprising in its intensity.
I press my hand against my mouth to stifle it, but more follow.
I’m crying for a baby I never knew existed until it was already gone.
I’m crying for the mess my life has become, caught between two men—one I can see but don’t truly know, and one I know intimately but have never truly seen.
Most of all, I’m crying because beneath the shock and confusion, there’s a hollow ache of loss that I never expected to feel. Something was growing inside me, something created in darkness and passion, and now it’s gone.
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and let the tears come, mourning a future I never even had the chance to consider.