Dr. Singh asks me several more detailed questions about my medical history and runs even more tests and screenings before the exam ends. He leans back on his stool, crossing his arms over his chest as his stethoscope dangles around his neck.

“Based on your symptoms and my initial assessment, I believe we should send you for an MRI just to be safe. Is that okay?”

He’s clearly trying his best to be neutral and not to scare me, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there when we started.

“Sure.” I swallow. “But what are you looking for with that?”

Dr. Singh stares at me for a few awkward seconds, and I can practically see on his face how he’s trying to come up with a way to smooth out the news he’s about to deliver. My mouth goes dry because somehow, I just know bad news is coming.

He shifts on his stool, and it squeaks a little beneath him, making me wince. He takes a deep breath, his expression turning serious.

“Listen, Ms. Dunaway, there’s no guarantee this is what’s going on, but I want to be upfront with you about the possibility…”

He pauses for a second to watch my face for a reaction. All I can do is stare at him and hang on his every word, my heart pounding. Whatever he says next feels like it’s going to change the rest of my life. When I don’t respond, he leans forward, clasping his hands together.

“There’s an outside possibility you could have a brain tumor, so we need the MRI to rule that out.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. It’s a good thing I’m seated because I might have fallen over if I wasn’t. A rush of cold floods my limbs, and I shake my head, ignoring the pain for the moment. I must have heard incorrectly, must be having a hard time making out what he’s saying because of what’s going on with these migraines.

“A brain tumor?” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. “You really think that’s what this could be?”

“I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily,” he says, his tone gentle. “The MRI will give us clarity. It could be something much more benign—migraines with aura, or even just severe stress. But with the progression of your symptoms, we need to be thorough.”

I nod, but the gesture feels automatic. Distant. Like I’m no longer inhabiting my own body.

Please. No.

47. Declan

Chapter 47

Declan