Seraphina's Point Of View
"It is working, Seraphina," Dr. Megan said softly, opening the folder and turning it toward me so I could see the colorful graphs and data charts. "Look right here. Your inflammatory markers have dropped by over forty percent compared to last month's blood draw. The targeted therapy we started six weeks ago is finally taking hold and fighting off the damaged tissue."
I stared at the numbers, at the neat little lines trending downward in a way that felt almost too good to be real. For a moment, I couldn't process it. My brain simply refused to accept that the news could be this good. I had spent so many nights bracing myself for the opposite, rehearsing how I would react to worse numbers, that I had no script prepared for this.
