I stared at Claire's retreating back, my heart sinking. How could she not believe me? After all our years of friendship, the late-night study sessions, the shared struggles through med school—she thought I was lying about my own health.
The interrogation room felt smaller by the minute. Four blank walls, a metal table, and a chair that dug into my back. I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to will away the dizziness starting to cloud the edges of my vision.
No one ever believed me about my anemia. It was too convenient, too invisible when it wasn't active. Even my own mother—no, Ivy—had accused me of faking it to get attention.
"Just sit up straight and stop being dramatic," she'd snap whenever I'd collapse as a child.
The door opened, and I looked up hopefully. Maybe Claire had come to her senses.
But it was only Officer Miller, bringing me a paper cup of water.
"Thank you," I whispered, my throat dry.
