Page 4 of Missed Notes (Rixon High 5)

“Problem, sweetheart?” Dad asked.

“Nope.” I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to see the worry shining in his. The constant shadow that hung over him and Mom these days.

“Sofia Bennet,” the secretary called, and my eyes snapped open. “Dr. Peters is ready for you.”

My heart plummeted. Down, down, down, dropping into my stomach, then my toes, and then the ground beneath me.

This was it…

The moment I’d tried so hard to avoid.

Because denial was my friend. And truth… truth was my enemy.

“Ready?” Mom smiled as I dragged myself out of the soft leather chair.

Dr. Peters’s waiting room was nice, comfortable, and homey. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a way to soften the blow of all the bad news that no doubt followed a wait out here.

Dad went first, knocking on the door and going inside at the request of Dr. Peters.

“Ah, Sofia, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. It’s nice to see you. Come in, take a seat.”

Every inch of me vibrated with nervous anticipation as I sat in yet another stylish looking chair.

“So, Sofia. Tell me what’s been going on with you?”

Silence.

It hung in the air like a thick, oppressive cloud. My fingers curled into the soft leather as I fought to look anywhere but at the doctor with kind eyes. Because kindness wouldn’t help me here.

“Sofia,” Mom urged, covering my hand with hers. “You need to tell him, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Sofia. I’m here to help. But I can’t fix you if I don’t know what’s wrong.” He gave me a reassuring smile, but it did little to ease the knot in my stomach. “I’ve read your notes from Dr. Levosky, but I’d like to hear your take on things.”

“I’ve been fainting.”

“Okay.” He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “The blood work that Dr. Levosky ran showed that you’re anemic. Did he talk about a low iron count being part of this?”

I nodded. “It’s been getting worse.” The words spewed out in a rush of breath.

“How often are we talking?”

“Eight times since I saw Dr. Levosky.”

Mom flinched, and I couldn’t look at her. As if she knew too—knew that something was wrong deep inside me. Something more than a bad case of anemia.

“Anything else?” he asked, studying the notes before him.

My notes.

My medical record.

Blood work and vitals from my visit with Dr. Levosky.

“I’m tired all the time. But it’s not like when you have a late night or early morning. I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels bone deep.”

“Okay.” His brows furrowed. “Any new unusual bruising?” I shook my head. “New lumps? Night sweats?”

“No.”

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