QUINN

My hand curled into the hem of my top, my gaze darting from the table to the open file folders scattered across the desk as the harsh, clinical stench of antiseptic chemicals and drugs wafted through the doctor's office.

The door pushed open, and the senior physician walked in. She wore her usual condescending smile that instantly grated on my nerves, her gaze dropping to the medical results clutched in her hand. A tight knot twisted painfully in my stomach—all our fragile hopes were riding on these numbers, and they were instantly ruined.

She walked behind her desk and sat down in her leather chair.

“Good morning, miss,” she...