Two hours later, I sat in an exam room while Olivia’s aunt drew vials of blood.
Her name was Marisol, and she had the calm eyes of someone who had seen too much to be easily surprised.
She didn’t ask many questions, but her expression grew increasingly concerned as Olivia listed my symptoms.
Nausea.
Dizziness.
Passing out.
Hair that had started coming out in the shower.
A strange tingling in my fingers sometimes, like static.
“The results should be back in a few hours,” Marisol said, labeling the last vial. “I’m marking it urgent.”
Then she looked straight at me.
“Anna, do you have somewhere safe to stay tonight?”
The question made my blood run cold.
Even the medical professional thought I was in danger.
“She can stay with me,” Olivia said quickly. “My mom already said it’s okay.”
My phone buzzed on the exam room chair.
Dad.
I stared at the screen, thumb hovering.
If I didn’t respond, he’d accuse me of being dramatic.
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