The doctor, noticing my distress, didn’t push further. He knelt slightly to meet my eyes and explained patiently, "I was accompanying my sister to the dance competition. She left something backstage and when I went to retrieve it, I noticed blood on the ground. I followed the trail all the way to the utility room."
"It’s a good thing I wasn’t too late," he added with a faint smile. "Otherwise, you’d have turned into a popsicle by now."
He hesitated for a moment, studying me with a mix of regret and pity.
"I know who you are," he said finally. "The rare talent in the dance world—someone destined to shine." His voice softened even further. "But I have to tell you… your leg… you won’t be able to dance again."
The words hit me harder than any physical blow. My chest heaved as sobs wracked my body. I buried my head in my arms, shaking uncontrollably.
The doctor—he introduced himself as Adam Grant—stood nearby, clearly uncertain of how to console me. Finally, he handed me another report.
"Ms. Neall," he said gently, "there’s something else. You’re… pregnant."
"What?"