The waiting room smelled of disinfectant and stale coffee.
The buzzing of the neon tubes on the ceiling drilled into my head like a nervous hum.
I sat on the hard chair with hunched shoulders, knees pressed tightly together, hands pushed deep into the sleeves of my sweater.
My mother sat beside me flipping through a magazine, but I could see her fingers turning the pages too quickly, her eyes not really following the words.
My father sat upright, as if he were presiding over a court hearing even in this room—arms crossed, gaze fixed on the clock.
No words, just the soft clicking as the second hand moved forward.
I couldn't feel their gazes directly, yet they hung on me like invisible weights.
Guilt and shame stuck to my skin like cold sweat.
"Lina Morell"
The doctor's assistant poked her head through the door.
I swallowed, stood up, my legs heavy as if I had lead weights attached to my ankles.
My parents followed me, step by step, like two shadows I couldn't shake off.
