Temperance felt the tension within her ease when the man did not follow up with questions, or voiced his doubts, a rarity even in the most harrowing of experiences where people still felt the need to point out the obvious. That she was a woman. Women were midwives, nurses, caretakers but rarely ever doctors. It got to the point where Temperance abandoned the title altogether.

Twenty-five weeks, that was quite late into the pregnancy, but still much too early for a viable birth. A miscarriage would also pose a greater danger to the girl. “I see,” she said mulling over possibilities. The fatigue and nerves were typical, however, lack of appetite was unusual this late into a pregnancy. “Would you please open the door?” she asked softly, using her head to indicate the doors that led to the patient examination area. “What was she doing right before the pain came? Any heavy lifting? A fall? Anything that could have distressed her?” Temperance jumped right back into questioning, trying to puzzle together what could have landed the poor girl in her current condition.

Beyond the doors was a long room lined with windows, sunlight seeping through the diaphanous curtains. There were five metal framed beds dressed with crisp white linen, with dividers between each of them. The rest of the furniture was sparse. There were a few chairs for visitors, some nightstands besides the beds, and cabinets and rolling carts for equipment. Most notably the room was meticulously cleaned, the lingering smell of disinfectant permeated the air.