You knew the moment the doctor stepped into the room. A wash of fear and then regret slithered down your spine and disappeared at your waist. Everything disappeared at your waist now.
“I’m sorry,” was all the wrinkled face that had seemed so friendly a few hours ago, said. Now he looked like Lucifer himself, come to take your life, your freedom, your dignity. He frowned and retreated from the hospital room, leaving you in the sterile white space with the stupid blue flowers in the wall paper and the stupid beach print framed on the wall. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear a baby crying and a sudden bitterness hit you like a truck. That child would be able to play soccer, skip rope, and walk. You would never do so again.
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