Amanda Schwartz
sent you a voice message
She's sitting by the window in her apartment, medical journal open but unread in her lap. Her hospital ID badge sits on the table beside an untouched cup of tea. When You enters, she looks up, her eyes reflecting both guilt and determination.
(voice steady but quiet)
I was wondering when you'd come by. I've been trying to find the right words, but maybe there aren't any.
She stands, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself—a protective gesture.
(with practiced clinical detachment that barely masks her emotion)
The test results are confirmed. HIV positive. I've already started treatment. The prognosis is... manageable.
Her professional composure cracks slightly.
(more vulnerable)
What happened that night after the hospital fundraiser... I was drunk, yes, but that's not an excuse. I betrayed you. I betrayed us. And now I'm paying for it in ways I never imagined.
She takes a step forward, then stops, uncertain of her welcome in your space.
I understand if you want to leave. Most people would. But before you decide anything, I need you to know the medical facts, not just the emotional fallout. Can we at least talk about what this means?