Beth sits next to me at the doctor’s office, and when they call me back, I nod for her to come with me. We’re in a women’s health medical mall, and I’m well aware it looks like we’re lesbians. Beth grins and puts her arm around my shoulders. “People are so stupid.”

I shake her off. I’m too fried to deal with the weird stares. It’s irrational to think they know what happened, that they’re judging me, but that’s what it feels like. “You can chide humanity on the way out. Not right now, okay?”

“Sorry, I was trying to make you laugh. I’ll stop.”

“Thanks.”

We pass several doors, and a nurse leads me into a pale gray office with silver chairs in front of a glass desk. There’s an empty white executive chair behind it. Bookcases line the walls from floor to ceiling. I pick a seat and sit down, folding my hands in my lap.

I didn’t realize I’d be in an office. I thought she’d insist on an exam. Honestly, I’ve avoided the women’s doctor since getting married. The thought of pap smears and annuals makes me sick if I think about it.

A tall, thin woman walks into the room. She stops, closes the door, and walks over to the desk with a computer tablet in her hand. She places it down and looks up at us. “I’m Doctor Bellamy. Which of you is Cassie Hale?”

I raise my hand like I’m in school. “Me.”

She juts out a palm to shake. I take it and exchange pleasantries, but my mind is elsewhere. As she shakes Beth’s hand, I realize it sounds like we’re underwater. Voices echo strangely. My hands are on the arms of the chair, nails biting into the soft fabric. My heart is pounding like I’m going to get jumped by a bear.

I barely breathe, “I can’t do this.”

Dr. Bellamy nods. “It’s all right. You can leave at any time, but may I tell you a few things before you go? It sometimes helps to know what we do, how we can help.”

I pause. “I don’t have to tell you what happened?”

“Not today. Jon gave me enough information.” Her eyes sweep over me. “It’s common to feel frightened and avoid coming to this kind of place, but it’s where you’ll find the most help.”

She begins to explain that women’s health is more than annual exams. It’s about helping women from adolescence through old age with issues that affect our gender. She tells me that she gets referrals from other doctors and why they can’t do it. Apparently this is a specialty area. I’ve never heard of this before, and I live in a major city.

I tell her that. “How come I’ve never heard of the other services offered? Like helping someone with my situation?”

“Well, unless you know someone who's been here or needed this type of care, it’s not something people talk about at the dinner table. Or anywhere else. It’s very personal and private.” She’s leaning against her desk, legs out in front of her with clunky black shoes sticking out from under gray slacks. She’s at least twice Jon’s age. Her silvery hair is tied at the base of her neck and pierced by a pencil.

Beth is quiet, listening carefully with her hands folded in her lap.

The doctors ask me some questions, and I don’t see the relevance. Do I feel like I need to pee frequently? Yes. Do I get up a lot at night? Yes. Has it ever hurt to have sex? Yes. Even without abuse. It’s always hurt. The questions stray the other way again, away from sex. She’s asking about my day, what I do. She asks if I’m in danger now.

I shake my head. “No, Jon chased him off.”

“How is Jonathan?” She watches me for a moment, and I can tell she’s wondering if I know.

I glance at Beth, and she doesn’t need a hint. She gets it. “I need to pee. Where’s the ladies' room?” Dr. Bellamy points and Beth vacates the room.

A moment later, it’s just the doctor and me. “Jon said you knew something happened to him.”

“I suspected it. He was young at the time. Something like that can cause a young man a lot of misery later in life.” Her eyes are hazel, with big flecks of gray the same shade as her hair.

“I shouldn’t ask you about him.”

“He gave me permission to tell you anything about him.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Jonathan is good like that. He’s a very caring person, and I know he feels like he had control of that situation so long ago, but he didn’t. He was a kid. It wasn’t his fault, and if anyone had known about it at the time, that woman would have been sent to jail. Sexual assault happens regardless of gender or age. I wish it didn’t.”

“Does he have this too?” I'm vague, but she understands my question.

“I don’t know, but I’d think not. Women’s bodies are built differently than men. The natural way we react to pain is to tighten and curve around the afflicted area. In your case, it’s a part of the body that is surrounded by very strong muscles, which were probably already too tight. Add the stress of what happened, and trying to force the muscles open just hurt more. Think of it like any other muscle in your body. When it gets hurt, we cradle it, keep it close, and try to protect it. The muscle fibers surrounding the area shorten and become tight. It's painful when you force it to stretch. Some women are in pain without intercourse, as well. They constantly hurt and have no idea why. It could be from a trauma or surgery, they both cause a reaction that’s hard to suppress.”

“Then how do you fix it?”

“I want you to know that while we can make progress, for some people the pain never completely goes away. You’ll have good days and bad days, and in the beginning, it’s one step forward, two steps back. Does your scar make you feel nauseated? Without touching it?” Jon must have told her about that.

I nod. “Sometimes.”

“Nausea, we can help. Scar tissue sometimes becomes tender and over sensitive. We can treat that in the office, or I can tell you how to do it. Was that the main issue last night?”

Tears form in my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to hold them back. “Yes, and it hurt a little. It didn’t feel good.”

She’s patient with me and speaks kindly. I don’t feel like she pities me, it’s that she emphasizes, she knows how hard it is sometimes. Still, there’s hopefulness in her voice I can’t ignore. We talk a little longer and by the time I’m heading home, I feel more convinced the other side of this storm is real—which makes me more determined to get there.