Cecelia
I didn’t have to fake being nervous when it finally came time to go to Dr. Ramirez to make it official. Fooling Ellis was one thing, fooling an intelligent lady doctor was a little more intimidating. And going public with my pregnancy made me feel vulnerable and exposed.
Dr. Ramirez had her stethoscope looped around her neck and her crisp white jacket on and was just ushering a young boy with a fresh set of stitches on his knee out of the office. His eyes widened when he saw me, and despite the tear tracks on his face, he grinned and proudly displayed his knee. “Look, Luna! Six stitches!”
“Oh my, that’s quite impressive,” I said, squatting down to give his knee a proper look. “And how did you cut your knee, sir?”
“Otis pushed me off the picnic table.” He said, wrinkling
