Tula sat up straighter. Ashley rose from her chair. Both women looked at him expectantly. But the doctor paused. “Some of the results were… inconclusive,” he admitted, eyes flicking to the chart. “There are anomalies we don’t yet understand. We’ll need to run additional tests.” The air left the room at once.
They exchanged a glance—surprise mingled with unease. Still, they nodded. The doctor was competent, thoughtful. If he said more tests were needed, they’d trust him. So Tula went again—more blood drawn, more scans, more hushed whispers between nurses who didn’t realize she could still hear them from her wheelchair.