She remembered the chill of the metal forceps. The coolness of the jelly for the ultrasound. The same doctor was in the hospital, waiting for her. Her filter mask was discarded, anonymity gone in the shape of her nose and mouth, the stitched name tag declaring her Dr. Pillai. Her eyes were sharp with a warning not to let on that Naomi had just seen her at Valerie’s home. It was an act of trust, for the doctor to see to Naomi herself rather than passing her on to someone else. Naomi groaned with the pain, a low and ugly animal sound. She still nodded her understanding.

Naomi listened as the doctor said that her embryo was a blighted ovum, which sounded strangely poetic to her. She’d treated how many plants in her life that had been affected by blight? Leaf curl, or the fire blight of pears, apples, or raspberries. Fungal or bacterial pathogens burrowing deep into healthy plants or fruit. Seven weeks into her pregnancy, the gestational sac was there, but there was no sign of the foetal pole on her ultrasound. The egg had never developed into an embryo. It was lost.

Yet the sac had still implanted on to the uterus, and for all the blood, it wasn’t releasing. A missed miscarriage, they called it.

Dr. Pillai walked her through her options. Naomi could go home, rest, and hope it eventually loosened and released on its own. If it still hadn’t shifted in two weeks, she’d have to return and have a dilation and curettage—essentially, a legal abortion, as the embryo had been established as no longer viable. Naomi would pretend that she’d never even known she was pregnant and was in town only to see Valerie.

Naomi opted for an immediate D&C. She couldn’t wait for two weeks while NASA training continued. She wanted this over and done. Her body had beaten her to the inevitable conclusion. That was all.

Valerie had hovered, then disappeared, probably to call Cole. Would he fly out? Did Naomi want him to?

Naomi swallowed pills to soften her cervix. Valerie returned, asking if she should stay, but Naomi shook her head. Valerie gave her hand a quick squeeze, told her Cole was flying out, and then she was gone.

Naomi lay on the bed in the hospital room that smelled of antiseptic and the psychosomatic scent of blood. She wished Valerie hadn’t told her Cole was on the way. They’d put her under, and Naomi couldn’t wait for the room to go soft, like she was wrapped in eiderdown. Her tongue was dry. She kept asking for water, but the nurse gently told her no. Not yet.