An older white man, possibly a husband, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes avoiding hers entirely. She tried not to let it get to her. She tried to remind herself this is about the baby.
You’re here for your child. But even as she filled out the forms with perfect penmanship, her fingers trembled slightly. Every second Ethan wasn’t beside her, the more exposed she felt in a place like this.
And somewhere behind one of those sleek doors, a storm was waiting. Danielle had barely finished the last page of the intake form when her name was called. The nurse didn’t smile.
She just stood there, in pale scrubs, clipboard in hand, eyes glancing down and up, like she was scanning luggage. Danielle rose slowly, pressing her palm against the small of her back, gathering her bag. She offered a small smile as she approached, but the nurse had already turned and started walking down the hallway.
The hallway was clean, immaculate even. Soft music played in the background, probably meant to be soothing, but to Danielle it felt like a mask over something rotten. Framed portraits of white mothers holding newborns lined the walls, and for a fleeting moment she wondered if any woman who looked like her had ever been on those brochures.
They stopped outside room 3B. The nurse pushed the door open and gestured her inside. The doctor will be with you shortly, she said curtly, then shut the door before Danielle could even thank her.
The room smelled of antiseptic and lavender. The examination bed was neatly arranged, a monitor in the corner blinking quietly. Danielle sat carefully on the edge, smoothing her dress, trying to quiet her nerves.
She checked the time again. Ten forty-three. Ethan was late.
Just a few minutes, but each one felt like an hour. Then the door opened with a soft click, and in stepped Dr. Lindsay Halbert. Light coat, perfect posture, blonde hair swept into a tight bun, cold grey eyes.
She didn’t greet Danielle, she didn’t offer a handshake, she didn’t smile, she simply stared. There was a silence that lasted too long, so long that it stopped being professional and started feeling personal. Then in a voice dipped in condescension she said, So? You’re Danielle Carter.
Danielle straightened her back, trying to match the tone without showing fear. Yes. Good morning.
I believe we’re doing the 4D scan today. Dr. Halbert didn’t move. Her eyes drifted down Danielle’s body, not in the way a physician examines a patient, but in the way a critic judges a stranger’s worth.
You came alone, she said flatly, as if it were an offence. Danielle hesitated. My husband had an emergency at work.
He’s on his way. A smirk ghosted across the doctor’s lips. Of course, she murmured, then turned toward the counter, adjusting some papers with theatrical precision.
Her tone shifted, cutting, sharp and purposefully cruel. Let me guess. You don’t know who the father is.
Or maybe he decided this morning that he’d had enough of the responsibility. Typical. Danielle’s breath caught.
Excuse me? The doctor turned back to her, eyes narrowed. Look. I don’t know what kind of place you thought you were walking into, Ms. Carter.
This isn’t some public clinic. This is a specialized facility for expectant mothers who care about their health and their child’s future. Not women who show up unaccompanied, looking like they rolled out of a bus station.
Danielle stood up slowly, fists clenched at her sides. I scheduled this appointment. I confirmed it.
I came here respectfully. Dr. Halbert stepped closer, her voice a low hiss. You people are always respectful when you want something.
Then you bring drama, disruption and accusations. Not today. Not in my facility.
Danielle’s heart pounded so hard it felt like it echoed off the walls. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her voice shook, but she spoke with dignity.
I’m leaving. I don’t have to sit here and be insulted. Oh, you’re not going anywhere just yet, the doctor sneered, turning toward the door.
In fact, I think I’m missing something. She glanced at the counter. My watch.
Cartier, platinum band. I set it here this morning. Then she turned slowly, deliberately, eyes locking on Danielle.
And now it’s gone. Danielle froze. Any technique you want to be avoided, as many circumstances.
Ideally, using the same interaction every time. I’m saying I’ve had enough charity cases. Walk in here and walk out with more than they came in with, Dr. Halbert snapped.
Security will be here shortly. Don’t make this harder than it already is. Before Danielle could respond, the doctor was already gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
Alone again, Danielle stared at the floor, disbelief mixing with a rising panic. She reached for her phone, but it was too late. Footsteps were already coming down the hall.