I went to the gynecologist that morning feeling nothing more than the usual nerves that come with seeing a new doctor. I reminded myself it was routine, a simple wellness check, something I’d done dozens of times before. But from the moment he walked into the exam room, something felt… off. His smile lingered just a little too long. His tone was just a little too casual. Still, I told myself to relax. Doctors have different personalities, I thought. Maybe he was just trying to make small talk.
But then, during the exam, he leaned close — far too close — and whispered, “Your husband is a lucky guy.”
I froze. My breath caught in my throat. It was so quiet, so subtle, that for a split second I wondered if I’d imagined it. But I knew I hadn’t. His voice had been unmistakable. I felt anger spike through my chest so sharply it almost made me shake. I wanted to sit up, pull the paper gown around myself, and demand he explain what he meant. I wanted to walk out of the room and never come back. I wanted—honestly—to punch him.
