I'm scared of the outcome of the diagnosis and it's evident in my features. My hands are visibly trembling, my face flushed, and sweat seeps out of each of my pores.
I sigh incessantly, too reckless to stay put, and my lips are pressed together, as I constantly wriggle them.
Dear skies! I pray silently to the moon goddess to intervene and probably perform a miracle of some sort.
"It's okay, darling. Be calm." Hendrix encourages.
He squeezes my hand as if to put a constraint on my impending outburst. His touch weighed more than mere words of comfort.
"Remember your promise?" He looks at me. "That no matter the result, we won't let it determine our fate." His eyes are still on me, waiting for my response.
Too agitated to say as little as a word, I nod vigorously.
