Page 119 of Break Me

"Any pelvic pressure or discomfort?"

"Sometimes."

He taps the screen before turning the tablet toward us. "This is your left ovary."

I lean forward, trying to make sense of the grainy black-and-white image.

He points to a dark area near the center of the screen

"It's what we call a complex adnexal mass," he says. "Unlike a simple cyst that's filled with fluid, this has areas that appear solid as well."

Raven shifts beside me, and I reach for her hand without taking my eyes off the screen.

"There's also some free fluid in your pelvis," he continues. "By itself, that doesn't always mean something serious, but taken together with this finding, I'd like it evaluated further."

I stare at the image. It still doesn't look like anything to me. Just shades of black and gray.

"Evaluated how?"

"I'd like you to see a gynecologic oncologist."

Raven turns toward him. "An oncologist?"

"They specialize in ovarian masses like this," he explains. "Many of the patients they see do not have cancer. They're simply the physicians best equipped to determine exactly what this is and decide if it needs to be removed."

I let out a slow breath. "So it's a mass, but you don't know what kind."

"That’s right,” he says. "We'll need more information before we can answer that."

"What happens now?" I ask.

"I'll put in the referral today. They'll likely want additional imaging and a few more blood tests before deciding on the next step. I'd like you seen as soon as possible."

Raven’s quiet for a long moment.

"But I felt pregnant," she says softly.

His expression softens. "Some ovarian masses can cause symptoms that overlap with early pregnancy," he says. "Nausea. Bloating. Feeling full sooner than usual. Even changes in the abdomen."

The room feels smaller now.

Not because he's raised his voice.

Because he hasn't.

The hallway outside the office feels too bright. Too normal. A nurse at the front desk is laughing with someone on the phone. A woman flips through a pregnancy magazine near the window.

Raven walks beside me as if nothing has changed. Like we didn’t just step into a different version of our lives.

The floral scent follows us out.

I hate it.

We don’t speak in the parking lot. I reach for her hand automatically, but she doesn’t look at me.

“Let’s ride,” she says.

It’s not a suggestion.