Page 159 of My Only

Because then I’d have to say the rest of it.

That Hassani was drowning in work. That I was afraid of getting in the way. That despite sharing a bed again, things weren’t magically fixed. That bringing a baby into this mess felt… reckless.

I wasn’t ready to say any of that out loud… especially not to my doctor, who definitely didn’t need to know all that.

Dr. Whitfield studied me. Really studied me.

“Are you sure?” she asked gently.

I held her stare.

“Ayla, you’re in excellent health.” She tapped my knee again. “Your body is healthy now, but waiting too long…” she hesitated. “It increases the risks.”

I nodded. “I know.”

We’d had this conversation every year since my thirtieth birthday.

I could feel my eyes welling and, in that moment, couldn’t understand why.

She handed me a tissue before I even realized I needed one.

I blinked fast.

Damn it.

I forced a laugh. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

She smiled. “Look. Whatever’s on your heart, figure it out with that good husband of yours.” She winked. “But don’t let fear—or your idea of the perfect timing—make the choice for you. Because there’s never a perfect time, Ayla. There’s just the right time for you.”

I smiled back, dabbing at my eyes.

“I’m going to send in your refill to your pharmacy and, as always, I’ll give you a paper copy,” Dr. Whitfield informed, tapping my knee one last time before giving it a gentle squeeze.

The thick summer heat and the constant honking of horns greeted me the moment I stepped onto the streets of Manhattan after my appointment.

I inhaled sharply, closed my eyes for a beat.

Just breathe.

I needed to get behind closed doors before the sting in my eyes turned into full-blown tears.

I didn’t even know why I wanted to cry.

Maybe because I wanted something so bad now, but felt like I couldn’t have it.

Maybe because deep down, I already knew… if I even picked up the pills this time, I was going to take them.

A sharp horn blast snapped me out of my thoughts.

My head jerked up just in time to see the pharmacy I always went to for refills.

I exhaled slowly.

My fingers tightened around the crisp paper copy of my refill.

Just go in.

Just pick it up.

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