The doctor’s office smelled of antiseptic and a strange lavender aroma. She sat stiffly across from Dr. Evans, her hands clasped in her lap.
“I’m afraid your chances of natural conception remain extremely low, Laura,” he said, gently sliding a folder toward her.
“Your AMH levels have dropped even further since last year.”
He tried to nod, but the pain in his chest made it difficult to breathe.
“Is there nothing? Nothing left to try?” The question came out broken, as if his hope was on the brink of collapse.
The doctor sighed and provided her a sad smile.
“We’ve drained most viable options, unless you consider IVF with donor sperm or an existing sample.”
That night, Laura huddled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that gave no warmth. Margaret, her oldest friend, arrived with two steaming coffees and a small bag of pastries. One look into Laura’s eyes told her everything. “It didn’t go well,” Laura murmured, tears slipping down her cheeks. “There’s no chance—at least not naturally.”
Margaret set the coffee on the table and settled beside her. “Natural doesn’t mean much these days, does it?” she said gently.
“I know you’ve told me before, but I can’t let go,” Laura whispered after a pause. “I want to be a mother, Margaret. More than anything else.”
