Dr. Morrison's office was exactly what I expected. It was sterile, professional, with motivational posters on the walls about "staying strong" and "fighting the good fight." I hated every inch of it.

"Mrs. Carter?" The nurse called my name, and I felt Rhett's hand tighten around mine.

"You've got this," he murmured, helping me stand even though my legs felt like jelly.

My father was in the waiting room too, wringing his hands and looking like he had aged ten years overnight. I told him he ...