“There’s your uterus,” Dr. Vance pointed. “Looks normal. And there’s your right ovary—see the little black circles? Those are follicles. Healthy.”

The wand was long and slender, covered in a warm gel and a condom. Liam handed it to Dr. Vance, who explained each movement as she inserted it. Rachel watched the grainy black-and-white monitor, feeling the wand shift inside her.

The honesty in the question disarmed Rachel. She found herself speaking without her usual polished filter. “I had a bad experience. A few years ago. A different doctor. He was… rushed. Rough. I felt like a piece of meat on an assembly line. I’ve been avoiding it ever since.”

Rachel looked at the tiny succulent on the table. Its green leaves were uncurling toward the fluorescent light. Something alive.

Rachel Steele stared at the ceiling of the examination room, counting the tiny holes in the acoustic tiles. It was her third attempt at counting; the first two had been interrupted by the pounding of her own heart. The paper gown crinkled with every breath she took, a harsh whisper in the sterile silence.

“I don’t think so,” Dr. Vance said honestly. “But I don’t guess. I test. The ultrasound is painless—a small wand inside the vagina that uses soundwaves to create an image. We can do it right now, or you can come back. But my recommendation is now.”