The clinic’s waiting room was as nondescript as ever, with its beige walls and generic landscape paintings. I sat there, the edge of a white envelope grazing my fingers. My name was printed neatly on the front, accompanied by the date: October 3, 2023. It was just a routine checkup, something I’d done countless times without a second thought. The air was filled with the faint scent of antiseptic, and the murmurs of other patients blended into the background.
The nurse called my name, breaking my reverie. I followed her through the linoleum corridors to Dr. Harris’s office. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as I took a seat opposite him. He glanced at the folder on his desk, then at me, his expression unreadable.
« Everything looks fine, » he began, tapping the folder lightly. « But there’s something we should discuss. » His tone was calm, almost too calm, as if he were discussing the weather.
Dr. Harris continued, explaining the results of my tests in a measured voice. The numbers and medical terms blurred together, but one phrase stood out: « Consider life without children. » It hung in the air between us, a suggestion more shocking than anything I’d expected to hear.
I nodded slowly, maintaining my composure despite the turmoil inside. This was supposed to be just another checkup, a formality. Now, it felt like the ground had shifted beneath me.
The envelope in my lap felt heavier, its contents suddenly more significant. I needed time to process, to decide what this meant for my future. Could it really be that simple, to just choose a life without children?
I left the clinic, the automatic doors closing behind me with a soft whoosh. Dr. Harris’s words echoed in my mind, a weight that lingered as I stepped out into the cool October air.
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