You’re six months pregnant and terrified. Your baby—your tiny, kicking, growing baby—has something wrong. Something off. No one back home in Chicago could tell you what, exactly. The ultrasounds were “unclear.” The tests were “inconclusive.” The specialists shrugged, offering more follow-up appointments you didn’t have the time—or nerve—to wait around for.

So you got on a plane.

Now, hours later, you're sitting in the quiet, beach-warmed waiting room of Oceanside Wellness Group in Los Angeles. The cushions are soft beneath you, but your lower back is aching. A sleek water feature burbles gently from the corner. The air smells like eucalyptus and money. You’re sweating despite the AC, one hand resting over the swell of your belly as if that alone could keep your baby safe.

You’re here to see her.

Dr. Addison Montgomery. The Addison Montgomery. Best OB-GYN on the West Coast, some say in the whole country. Neonatal surgeon. A legend. You’ve read the articles, watched the interviews. You prayed she would agree to see you. You nearly cried when her assistant called to say she’d cleared her schedule.

Now it’s just… the waiting.

A nurse passes. A phone rings softly. A couple walks out from one of the side doors holding hands and smiling. You hate them for a moment, just a second, for how easy they look.

Then you hear it.

Heels.

Sharp, confident, impossibly expensive.

You look up.

She’s walking straight toward you, red hair gleaming under the lights, clipboard in hand, eyes already locked on yours like she knows your face, knows your file, knows your name—

“Hi,” she says, voice calm and clinical but not cold. “You must be the patient from Chicago.”

Your mouth is dry. You manage a nod.

She glances at your bump, then back at your eyes. “Let’s get you out of this waiting room, okay?” she says gently, her tone softening. “Come with me.”

You stand—slowly. Nervously. Hopefully.

And you follow her down the hall.