Page 35 of All is Not Lost

And I follow because I know that wherever he leads, there my home will be. Together, we'll build a life where every morning is a fresh start, every evening an ode to the love we share—a love that promises to endure, just like the ancient olive tree under which we made our vow.

Chapter

Thirteen

The moment I step through the threshold of the doctor's office, my heart kicks against my ribs like it's trying to escape. It's silly, really, how a place can be so familiar and alien all at once. I'm surrounded by chatter, but the sing-song rhythm of Italian is a stark reminder that this isn't home. Not really. Standing here, on the brink of a life-changing revelation, the distance from everything I've ever known has never felt more profound.

"Signora Bennett?" The receptionist's voice cuts through the haze of my thoughts, her accent thick and comforting in its own way. I nod, trying to appear composed, but inside, my anxiety churns like a stormy sea.

“The doctor will be right with you.”

I take a seat on a rigid plastic chair, the kind that seems designed to keep you from getting too comfortable. The walls are a stark white, and the room smells sharply of antiseptic—a clean, clinical scent that does nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. My hands rest uneasily in my lap, fingers intertwined in a silent prayer for strength, for courage.

The buzz of hushed conversations fades to a background hum as I fixate on the door that leads to the examination rooms. Each time it swings open, my breath catches, half-expecting to hear my name. But it's not my turn yet. Not quite.

I force myself to focus on something—anything—to distract from the mounting pressure inside me. I notice the sheen on the linoleum floor, reflecting the sterile light above. The sound of footsteps echoes crisply off the walls, the occasional clink of medical instruments being prepped punctuating the air.

"Signora Bennett?"

This time, it's for me. The nurse's call snaps me from my reverie, and with a dry mouth, I rise, my legs feeling strangely wooden beneath me. The world narrows to the few steps toward the door, to the threshold of my future lying just on the other side.

My heart is no longer just pounding; it’s doing frenetic acrobatics against my ribcage. The hallway to the examination room stretches before me, each step I take resonating on the cold floor, a countdown to the moment that will change everything.

"Okay, Sophia," I whisper to myself as I round the corner, "you can do this."

The door swings open, and I'm ushered into a room that feels too small for the enormity of what's about to happen. My palms are slick with sweat, betraying my outward attempt at calm. I rub them on the fabric of my dress, willing the moisture away.

"Respira," I tell myself. Breathe.

"Buongiorno, Signora Bennett."

His voice is warm, and his accent is thick and soothing. Dr. Rossi stands there with a gentle smile that reaches his kind eyes. He's slightly greying at the temples, exuding an air of experience that drapes me like a comforting shawl.

"Buongiorno," I return, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.

"Please, have a seat," he gestures to the examination table, his movements deliberate and considerate.

"Thank you," I manage, climbing onto the table with legs that feel more like gelato in the summer heat than limbs. I sit there, paper crinkling beneath me, a stark reminder of where I am.

"Are you comfortable?" Dr. Rossi asks, pulling over a stool so he can sit eye-to-eye with me. His question is simple, but the way he asks it—it's as if he understands that comfort is a luxury I haven't felt in a while.

"Si, as comfortable as one can be," I say, offering a small, tight-lipped smile.

"Good," he nods. "I know this must be difficult for you, being so far from home."

His acknowledgment of my isolation here in Italy, so far from the familiar streets of my hometown, loosens something inside me, a knot I hadn't realized was pulled quite so tight.

"Let’s talk about how you’ve been feeling," he continues, flipping open my file. "Any morning sickness, discomfort?"

"Um, a little…" I start, my voice barely above a murmur. "I've been nauseous most mornings and tired… so very tired."

"Ah, classic symptoms, but we'll make sure everything is as it should be." He offers another reassuring smile.

"Thank you," I reply, my gratitude genuine because even in this sterile room, with its smell of antiseptic and the quiet buzz of fluorescent lights, Dr. Rossi makes the unknown a little less daunting. I find myself clinging to his every word, to the kindness lacing his questions as I float adrift in this sea of uncertainty.

"Everything will be fine, Signora Bennett," he says softly, as if he knows that what I need most isn't just medical care but also the reassurance that comes from human kindness.

"Thank you," I repeat, letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. And for a fleeting moment, buoyed by his empathy, I allow myself to hope.

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