The car rolls forward, pulling away from the hospital entrance, leaving behind the white walls, antiseptic air, and the days of uncertainty that clung to me like a second skin. I sink into the back seat, letting the leather cradle my tired body, my head resting against the headrest.
Outside the window, the city slides past in ribbons of afternoon sunlight—golden and warm, softening everything it touches.
I let my gaze drift across the passing streets, the familiar blur of buildings and trees and people living their ordinary lives, but my mind is elsewhere. It's caught on words that won't stop circling, looping back again and again, impossible to ignore. looping back again and again like a song I can't forget.
Alpha trait turning into an Omega. More likely than turning into a Beta.
The doctor's voice echoes in my head, clinical, measured—each word chosen with precision of someone delivering news that could shift the ground beneath a person's feet.
