by I went to the gynecologist—a new doctor. During the exam, he whispered, “Your husband is a lucky guy.” I wanted to punch him. But when I got home and undressed, I realized something wasn’t right.
There was a faint, bruise-like mark on my lower abdomen. I hadn’t noticed it before. At first, I thought I went to the gynecologist—a new doctor. During the exam, he whispered, “Your husband is a lucky guy.” I wanted to punch him. But when I got home and undressed, I realized something wasn’t right.
There was a faint, bruise-like mark on my lower abdomen. I hadn’t noticed it before. At first, I thought I might’ve bumped into something, but when I touched it, it felt sore—subtle, but definitely not normal.
I stood in front of the mirror, tilting my head to get a better look. I couldn’t tell if I was overreacting or if my instincts were trying to warn me. The doctor’s creepy comment faded as a deeper concern settled in.
