Page 3 of Meet Me In The Dark

What if I can’t have kids?

Do I even want kids?

What if sex still hurts?

What if I end up in another relationship where he’s patient at first, insisting that he understands, only for him to resent me later when his needs aren’t fulfilled?

I shake the thought away.

Not important right now.

Whatisimportant is that I feel like absolute garbage and would very much like some more drugs, please and thank you.

I shift slightly, wincing as the pain sharpens.

“You okay?” Emmy asks, her brows pinched with concern.

“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just uncomfortable.”

“Do you want me to call the nurse?”

I consider it, but before I can answer, Madison chimes in. “You know what she needs? Snacks. What do we want? Salt and vinegar chips? Chocolate? A celebratory donut?”

“Why are we celebrating?”

“Because you survived major surgery.”

“Madison, it was laparoscopic surgery, not open-heart.”

I glance at Emmy, who is rubbing her temples like she’s fighting a migraine, but Madison continues undeterred. “I also think we need a post-surgery itinerary. Celeste’s recovery week should include—”

“A week?” I cut in. “I have to get back to work.”

Emmy glares at me and points a finger. “No. You have to rest. You are not jumping into work right away.”

“Yes, tell her,” Madison agrees. “I say we start with aMamma Miamarathon. That way, if she cries, we can blame it on the hormones. Then we go full comfort mode—trash TV, murder podcasts, and me forcing her to hydrate.”

I snort despite myself. “Sounds exactly like you.”

She fluffs my pillow like a mother hen on steroids. “I take my best friend duties very seriously.”

“That’s debatable,” I mutter.

“Rude, but fine, since you’re clearly not appreciating my excellent bedside manner, I’ll go track down real snacks while Emmy fusses over you.” She winks and heads toward the door.

The moment she’s gone, Emmy exhales. “I swear, she’s the reason I’m going to need blood pressure meds.”

“That’s why we keep her around.”

“That, and she scares away the weak.” She reaches for my hand, her expression softening. “Seriously, how are you feeling? And don’t bullshit me.”

I hesitate before answering, my throat tight. “Relieved,” I admit. “And exhausted. And a little scared.”

She squeezes my hand. “That’s normal.”

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “I just really hope this works, you know? Five years of fighting for answers, and now it’s like…what if it doesn’t get better?”

Emmy’s grip tightens. “Then we keep fighting. No matter what, we’ll figure it out.”