Page 86 of Before Dawn

This week’s struggle wasn’t just anxiety—it was a whole new level of hell. My period arrived, bringing the full wrath of endometriosis with it. The cramps clawed at my insides like a monster, my lower back felt like it was being pummeled by a jackhammer, and nausea, bloating, fatigue, and a complete loss of appetite formed a relentless symphony of misery.

At least this month, I could get out of bed. That wasn’t always the case. Some months, it left me paralyzed, helpless as my body waged war against itself.

Pushing through a shift while feeling like death was an accomplishment in itself. Just making it in was a victory. At least I didn’t have to explain an absence to my new boss—dodging that conversation in my first month was a small mercy.

If anyone would’ve noticed something was wrong, it was Mikkel. He always checked in, asked questions, and never took ‘I’m fine’ at face value. Even when I brushed him off, he’d still call or text just to make sure. But today, he was in Chicago for business, and I didn’t want to burden him with this.

Halfway through my shift, I heard a familiar voice.

“Abigail-Ann!”

I turned, and saw Azzaria, grinning like she’d won the lottery. My spirit lifted immediately.

“Azzy! What are you doing here?”

“You’re way too hard to catch these days, and I thought I’d come and say hi on your break.”

During lunch, we sat in Central Park with sandwiches and sodas, catching up. I vented about work, my period, and the urgent need for locks on my apartment since my parents kept nagging me about safety. She had a knack for making everything feel less overwhelming.

“Abi,” she said between bites of her sandwich, “you need to get those locks before they book a flight from California to do it themselves.”

I laughed, grateful for her. “I’m gonna do it.”

After lunch, I called my parents during a lull in customers. My mom warmly asked about work, while dad joked about helping with “heavy books,” though we both knew he’d just be checking up on me.

“I’m fine, Dad,” I reassured him. “But seriously, locks are happening soon.”

The rest of the shift passed in a blur. By the time closing rolled around, the cramps had dulled to an ache, and I was ready to crawl into bed.Stepping into the cool night, phone in hand to book an Uber, I spotted a familiar white Rolls Royce idling at the curb.

My heart stuttered.No way.

The driver’s side door opened, and Mikkel stepped out, his tall frame as composed as ever, but his face showed a genuine, soft happiness as he walked toward me.

“Mikkel?” My voice broke with surprise.

“Red,” he replied, his tone like a caress.

I stopped in front of him. “You’re supposed to be in Chicago.”

He grinned, a boyish tilt to it that made my chest ache. “Came back earlier.”

“Why?”

He looked down at me. “I had better things to do.”

I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Better things?”

He tilted his head toward the car. “Come on, let me take you home.”

I nodded, unable to resist the tenderness in his gaze. As he opened the car door for me and I slid in, he handed me a bag.

Inside were a bag of barbecue Lay’s, a slice of chocolate cake, a bouquet of primroses, and—holy fuck—a heating pad.

I looked up at him, stunned. “Mikkel…”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking shy. “It’s your time of the month, so I thought these would help. If it’s too much—”

I placed my hand over his, stopping him mid-sentence. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.” My throat tightened, but I fought back the tears threatening to spill.

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