Heat rose to Isabelle’s cheeks. Around her, a few people in the waiting area shifted uncomfortably. Some avoided her gaze. No one spoke up.

She lowered herself into a chair, clutching her abdomen. The cramps grew sharper, more insistent. Twenty minutes dragged by like an eternity. Finally, unable to sit still, she forced herself to stand again and return to the desk.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s worse now. I need help.”

Brenda’s expression hardened. “That’s enough. If you keep bothering me, I’ll call security.”

Isabelle blinked. She had not raised her voice, had not caused a scene. Fear and confusion churned inside her, but before she could respond, Brenda picked up the phone. Her words carried across the reception: “I’m calling the police.”