Roset couldn't get the idea of having a child out of her mind but was worried about her body. She decided that it might be a good idea to visit a clinic and get some expert advice.
The clinic was tucked between two apartment buildings in a quiet corner of the city, far from the sterile glass towers of government buildings. It didn't look like much, just a white sign with green lettering and a door that chimed when she entered.
The receptionist, a woman in her sixties with soft eyes and no-nonsense posture, greeted her without surprise. "Miss White?" she said, her accent gentle.
She nodded. She hadn't used her full name in weeks.
"Dr. Mori is expecting you. Down the hall, last door on the left."
She followed the corridor slowly, her shoes making almost no sound on the polished floor. The hallway smelled of eucalyptus and antiseptic, strangely soothing, like a place where grief might be taken seriously.
Dr. Mori was younger than she'd expected. Maybe mid-thirties, with warm features and sleeves rolled to the elbows. His office was sparse: a desk, a chair, and a small examination table. A photo of a toddler peeked out from behind a plant on the windowsill.
"Please, sit," he said, standing as she entered. "I've read your intake form. Thank you for being so open."
She sat down, folding her hands in her lap.
"I'm not here for a diagnosis," she said quickly. "I just… I need to know what could happen, and what to expect."
"Of course," he said. "I understand you had a miscarriage some time ago?"
She nodded. "Just over a year now. First trimester. It happened naturally, but… it changed me. I thought I was okay, until now."
He made a few notes, then looked at her again. "Were there any complications? Surgeries?"
"Minor. I had a D&C. The doctors said everything was normal afterward. But I was told if I ever got pregnant again, that I need to tell the doctor and I should have regular monitoring."
"That's reasonable advice," he said. "And the family history?"
"My mother had two miscarriages. My two sisters also, but they do have children now. It… runs in us, I think."
Dr. Mori sat back slightly. "There's no perfect science for these things, Miss White. But nothing you've told me is a certain red flag. I can arrange a full reproductive health screening. Non-invasive. We'll run hormone tests, ultrasound, blood work."
She looked at the floor. "If it turns out I can't have children… will they revoke the offer?"
He was quiet for a moment. "The program is designed to promote families, yes. But it's also built on consent. Mutual willingness. There are men in the program who have chosen to prioritise partnership. Stability. Not just children."
She nodded slowly.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"That makes you human," he said. "You've lost more than most people ever will. And now you're being asked to build something completely new. It's not wrong to hesitate."
She looked up at him. "If I say yes to all this… it's not just about the baby. It's about trusting a stranger. Letting someone in. I haven't done that in a long time. I don't know if I could after loosing everyone."
He smiled gently. "Then take your time. Let your body speak. Let your heart decide when it's ready."