The morning of the appointment arrives, and I wake up to the soft light filtering through the curtains.
My partner is already up, bustling quietly in the kitchen.
“Coffee’s ready,” they call softly, not wanting to disturb the fragile morning calm.
I get up, feeling the familiar weight of anticipation settle over me as I move through my routine.
The coffee is warm and comforting, a small solace in the midst of my swirling thoughts.
As I sip, my mind drifts to the dermatologist’s office, wondering what it will be like.
I picture sterile white walls, the faint smell of antiseptic, the low hum of fluorescent lights.
Will they take my concerns seriously, or will it be the same dismissive glance as before?
I push the thought aside, focusing instead on the warmth of the coffee mug in my hands.
“You’ll be okay,” my partner says, their hand resting gently on my shoulder.
