The sharp, sterile smell of disinfectant filled Katherine's nose the moment the clinic doors swung open. Her arms tightened instinctively around Nathan, whose tiny head was nestled against her shoulder, his small body feverishly warm. Maya whimpered softly in Felix's arms, her flushed cheeks damp from earlier crying.
Katherine's throat was dry, her hands clammy. Her chest squeezed so tightly it felt like someone had wrapped chains around her ribs. Her babies were sick—both of them.
She blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry again. She had already broken down twice since leaving the house. Her eyes burned, but there was no time for tears now.
Felix reached for the check-in counter, one hand juggling Maya while the other fished for his wallet and ID. "Appointment for Maya and Nathan Anderson," he told the receptionist. His voice was calm, collected—a steady anchor in Katherine's storm of panic.
