Edward sits on the medical bed in the room, examining his legs, which are stretched out. Or, to be more specific, his trousers. The dark fabric bunches slightly around his ankles, a faint crease appearing where his legs rest. I sit in the corner, facing the door to the room, tapping my foot on the dark hardwood floor, chin propped on my hands, which are resting on my legs. I try to focus on the rhythmic sound of my tapping, but my mind keeps wandering. I am impatient, though I know I shouldn’t be. I really want to go back home, to put Edward to bed, and then to see Margaret. I sigh quietly to myself. Oh well, I’ll just have to wait a little while longer. It’s not like Margaret will go missing in the meantime.

The door opens with a soft knock, and Dr. Corbett steps inside. He’s a tall man, older, with silver hair neatly combed back. He smiles politely, shaking both Edward’s hand and mine. “Hello,” he greets us. “I’m Dr. Corbett. What seems to be the issue today, sir…?”

“Edward, just call me Edward.”

“Alright, Edward,” Dr. Corbett replies, making a note on his clipboard. “What brings you in today?”

“Well, my wife can tell you, since she’s been more observant about me than I am about myself.”

Dr. Corbett looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak.

“His symptoms started about four or five days ago,” I begin, sitting up straighter. “He’s abnormally tired. He basically sleeps more than half the day now, or has been ever since four days ago. And his appetite is insatiable. He’ll eat, be full for a while, but half an hour later, he’s hungry again. It’s not like I’m giving him light meals; I’ve given him substantial portions, meals that should keep him satisfied. But clearly, they’re not doing the trick. So it’s not a problem with what I’m feeding him. He also seems thinner, and he’s using the bathroom more than usual. Not because he’s drinking more—I've been keeping an eye on that. He’s also not complaining of feeling sick.”

Dr. Corbett takes notes, looking up briefly. “Okay, thank you, ma’am,” he says, then continues. “If you don’t mind, could you step out for a bit? It’ll just be a few more minutes. When Edward comes into the waiting room, you two can head out together.”

I nod, standing up with a soft sigh. Before I leave, I turn back to Edward. “Be honest about everything, okay? If you’re not, I’ll know. And I’ll be beyond angry. You don’t want that, do you?”

Edward’s eyes widen in pure shock, then soften with an apologetic look. “Um, of course not. I’ll be honest, I promise. I just wanted you to tell Dr. Corbett for me. You know how I am—I don’t keep track of my own health, I barely notice when something’s wrong. Anyways, see you in the waiting room, love.”

I nod, then head out of the room, the corridor stretching before me, its soft, flickering lights overhead creating a quiet atmosphere. I walk past several closed doors, the muffled sound of distant conversation fading in and out.

I reach the waiting room, my eyes scanning the space. The room is larger than I expected, the walls painted in a soft, calming beige. A large play area occupies the center, with a little wooden playground for toddlers: a small slide, a baby swing, a tic-tac-toe board, and a sandpit with shovels and buckets scattered about. In the pit, a little girl, likely about four years old, digs in the sand with a bright orange shovel. She has chestnut brown, pin-straight hair and bright blue eyes, the same as her younger brother, who’s about two. He has messy, tousled brown hair, as if he’s just woken up. They’re both cute, their sibling dynamic sweet in its simplicity.

The mother sits nearby, watching them with a soft smile, her hair pulled into neat buns. Her eyes, a warm brown, follow the children carefully, occasionally glancing up to meet the gaze of a passing stranger. She’s well-groomed, though there’s a tiredness to her. It’s the look of someone who’s been running after toddlers for a long time.

I sit in a cushioned chair near the front of the room, adjusting my dress and crossing my legs. My gaze drifts back to the children. The girl carefully pats the sand into a mold, constructing a small sandcastle. She flips it over, and when the mold lifts, a perfect little tower stands proudly. The girl smiles, proud of her creation, but her brother isn’t as impressed. He swings his shovel with all the force of a toddler, knocking the castle in half.

Her face turns red, and her blue eyes start to glisten with tears. “You ruined it! Why did you do it, Will? You ruined it!” she wails. Her voice rises, more in frustration than anger.

Will giggles, unaware of the damage he’s caused, but his sister doesn’t let it slide.

“Will!” the mother says sharply, looking over at him. “Say sorry to Juna. Now.”

“I sowwy, Junie,” Will says with a sweet, squeaky voice. His words are barely understandable, but his sincerity is clear.

“Hmph!” Juna responds, her arms crossing tightly over her chest, turning her back on him.

Just then, a tall man—likely the children’s father—enters the room, his smile wide and easy. “All good! Ready to head out, Beth?” he asks. His deep voice rings with warmth, though there’s a tiredness to it too.

Beth nods, standing up with a soft sigh. “Yes. Will, Juna, time to go home now.”

“Yay!” Juna exclaims, running to her father, her small arms wrapping around his legs in an enthusiastic hug. He bends down to return the gesture, his large frame dwarfing her.

“You didn’t clean yourself up,” Beth says, giving her daughter’s dress a quick dust-off.

“Daddy!” Will squeals, wobbling toward his father with unsteady legs. Beth follows behind, dusting him off before handing him to the father.

“How’s my little man doing?” the father asks, lifting Will and nuzzling his face against his.

The scene brings a strange feeling to my chest. A mix of fondness, envy, and longing. I tear my eyes away, afraid they’ll notice me, and I focus on anything else in the room. The last thing I want is for them to sense my discomfort.

As the family exits, the father waves at the receptionist. I glance at her—recognition flickers across my face. It’s the same middle-aged woman who helped us when we arrived. Her stern demeanor never falters, though now there’s a faint glimmer of politeness as she nods in acknowledgment.

A cold shiver runs down my spine. I glance at the receptionist, then at my hands, which are suddenly trembling. What if Margaret sent a letter, not realizing I’m back early? What if the owners of the country house have read it, or worse, if they already know? Panic begins to grip me, and my breath hitches in my throat. If that letter is out there, it could ruin everything. What if Edward finds out? What if they kill us?

The thought weighs heavily on me. I try to keep calm, but the fear makes my hands shake. I force myself to focus, breathing deeply in an effort to quell the overwhelming dread threatening to break through.

“Ma’am, are you alright?”

I look up to find the receptionist’s concerned gaze on me. Her stoic face has softened, her furrowed brows and frown mirroring the worry I’m trying to suppress.

“Oh, um, just worried about my husband. We just got married, and now he’s ill. I’m just afraid something terrible might happen to him,” I say, trying to steady my voice, though it cracks with the lie.

She blinks at me, her eyes assessing. After a moment, she nods, her voice softening. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. I went through something similar with my own husband. He fell ill shortly after we got married, but it turned out to be manageable. He’s been fine ever since.”

I nod, forcing a weak smile. “Thank you. I feel a little better.” It’s a lie, but I don’t know how to explain the real fear that’s churning in my stomach.

“Excuse me, where are the bathrooms?” I ask, trying to regain some composure.

“Just down the hall, you’ll see the door on your left. It says ‘Ladies.’”

I thank her and make my way down the hallway, my footsteps echoing in the silence. When I reach the door, I knock gently, then open it when no response comes. I lock the door behind me and move to the sink, my hands still trembling as I splash cold water on my face. I press my palms into my eyes, willing the tears to stop.

The sound of knocking at the door startles me, and I jump, my heart racing for a moment.

“Someone’s in here!” I call out, hoping they’ll hear. The knocking ceases.

“I’ll be out in a few,” I promise, my voice shaking.

After I finish, I dry my face with the towel, giving it one final pat. I gather myself, pulling together the last of my composure, and open the door.

A girl, likely around 18, stands outside in a green dress, looking uncomfortable. I can see she’s been waiting. “Thank you,” she murmurs as she steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

I exhale slowly, the weight of my fears still with me, but I try to calm my nerves.

I make my way back to the waiting room and find Edward, his posture stiff but his expression brightening as he sees me. His hands are clasped together between his legs, his head slightly bowed as if lost in thought. When he notices me approaching, his face lifts, a smile spreading across it.

“There you are! Where were you? Why’d you take so long?” he asks, his voice cheerful despite the uncertainty I feel.

“I was in the bathroom,” I reply, walking over to him. “I’m fine. What did the doctor say?”

Edward stands up, smoothing out his polo top. “We’ll talk about it on our way home. It’s nothing too bad. Don’t worry. I really don’t like being in the doctor’s office.”

I nod, then slip my hand into his as we walk out. “Goodbye, thank you, ma’am,” I call to the receptionist, her stiff smile barely visible as we leave the office.

As we step out into the fresh air, hand in hand, I rest my head on Edward’s shoulder. It’s oddly comforting. Though he has no idea, his presence is grounding me, and it’s helping to calm the storm of fear that still churns inside me.