Chapter 111: Am I Interrupting Something?

The smell of carne asada and roasted peppers clung to the brown paper bag in my hand, the grease staining through no matter how tightly I held it. Mexican food—my favorite cuisine. Comfort. Warmth. Something to disguise the heaviness in my chest after leaving the gynaecologist’s office. Her words still beat against my skull like a gavel: hard to conceive… years on the pill… might not be easy. My fingers tightened on the bag as if squeezing it could silence the ache inside me. I still walked down the marble-lined hall to his office, balancing tacos and tamales like a peace offering. Maybe if I brought him something warm, I’d feel warm, too. I paused, smoothed my blouse and my hair. Then I tried to school my face into something that wasn’t gloomy, then pushed the door open. Roman’s office was all sharp edges and glass, sunlight spilling over polished wood that have recently become familiar to my back. And there he was, commanding the center of the room behind his desk, headset on, voice