The visit was meant to be routine, “just another appointment,” with only mild anxiety about seeing a new doctor.
But from the start, something felt wrong—his smile lingered, his friendliness felt misplaced.
During the exam, unease turned to shock when he leaned in and said, “Your husband is a lucky guy.”
The comment left her frozen as he continued “as if nothing had happened.”
She dressed quickly and left, humiliated and angry, telling herself she would report him and never return.
At home, she noticed a bruise on her lower abdomen—“something that hadn’t been there earlier.”
It didn’t look accidental, and touching it brought a dull ache.
The doctor’s words replayed in her mind, now heavier. Nothing about the exam explained the mark.
The bruise felt “deliberate,” a warning her instincts wouldn’t let her ignore.
