Chapter 30 Diagnosis
Kyle’s POV**
The medical center’s waiting room felt too small, too sterile. I watched Mia through the glass partition as nurses took her vitals, drew blood, performed test after test. She looked small in the oversized hospital chair, pale against the stark white walls.
“Mr. Branson?” John’s voice drew my attention. My family’s physician for twenty years stood before me, his expression grave as he studied the preliminary results. “Shall we discuss this in tny office?”
I followed him down the quiet corridor, my footsteps echoing on polished floors.
“Her physical symptoms are concerning,” John began, spreading est results across his desk. “Significant weight loss, irregular sleep patterns, elevated cortisol levels. But I’m more worried about her psychological state.”
I leaned forward. “Explain.”
“She’s exhibiting classic signs of clinical depression.” John removed his glasses, started polishing them with that methodical movement I’d seen since childhood – his tell when delivering difficult news. “The symptoms are quite clear.”
“What symptoms exactly?” I leaned forward, gripping the edge of his desk.
“Severe anxiety, emotional withdrawal, sleep disturbances.” He laid the test results out one by one. “Her blood work shows elevated cortisol levels consistent with chronic stress. She’s lost almost fifteen pounds in the past month alone.”
“I’ve noticed she barely eats,” I admitted. “Mrs. Chen keeps telling me-
“It’s more than just not eating, Kyle.” John’s voice sharpened. “We’re seeing signs of post–traumatic stress disorder, most likely triggered by the miscarriage.”
The word ‘miscarriage‘ hit like a physical blow. “PTSD? Isn’t that what soldiers get from war zones?”
“PTSD can result from any severe trauma.” John set his glasses down, meeting my eyes directly. “And what happened that night…” He shook his head. “A violent fall down marble stairs. Massive blood loss – she nearly needed a transfusion. The loss of twins she’d only just discovered…”
He paused, and I could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying.
“Go on,” I managed, though I didn’t want to hear it.
“The subsequent isolation, the strain in your relationship, her mother’s condition – it’s created a perfect storm of psychological pressure.” John put his glasses back on, studying me over their rims. “She needs help, Kyle. Professional intervention. Support.”
“Whatever she needs.” The words came automatically. “The best specialists, the most advanced treatments-”
“It’s not just about throwing money at the problem.” John said, “You know what I mean.”
I stood abruptly, moving to the window. The city sprawled below, going about its business, unaware of how many lives were unraveling in this quiet office.
“I’ve arranged for Dr. Sarah – she’s one of the top trauma specialists in the country.” John’s voice softened slightly. “But recovery isn’t just about therapy and medication. Mia needs to feel safe. Supported. Valued.”
“I don’t know how.” The admission cost me, but it was true. “Everything I do seems to make it worse.”
“Start by being there.” Papers rustled as John gathered his notes. “Really there, Kyle.”
The implied criticism was clear.
“What’s her prognosis?”
“That depends largely on you.” John’s directness was why I’d kept him as our physician all these years, “Depression and PTSD are treatable, but she needs a strong support system.
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chapter 30 Diagnosis
* +26 BONUS
“I’ll do whatever It takes. Schedule everything she needs,” I said fstead. “Treatment, therapy, specialists. Whatever it takes to help her heal.”
And you?”
I turned from the window. “What about me?”
“Have you considered that you might need help too?” John’s voice was gentle now. “Trauma doesn’t just affect the direct victim, Kyle. And from what I’ve observed, you’re carrying your own unresolved issues.”
The pendant flashed in my mind again. Taylor’s stories that never quite matched my seemed to hold echoes of that brave little girl from my childhood.
“One thing at a time,” I said firmly. “Focus on helping Mia.”
in
memories. The way Mia’s eyes sometimes
John sighed but nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements. But Kyle?” He waited until I inet his eyes. “All the treatment in the world won’t help if she goes home to an empty house and an absent husband.”
I watched through the window as Mia emerged from her final tests. She looked exhausted, fragile in a way that made my chest ache. When had I stopped seeing her? Really seeing her?
“How do I fix this?” The question was more to myself than John, but he answered anyway.
“Start by being honest. With her, and with yourself.
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