The first thing I noticed was the smell of the doctor.

He had the same dark complexion and freckles as I did, but he looked like a doctor who had worked on my own family.

He looked like someone who had gone through the trauma of the last four years of his life.

He was wearing a black t-shirt that read, “Dr. T’s Mom.”

He wore a green-and-blue suit that said, “Don’t be a jerk.

Just follow your instincts.”

I could smell blood, too.

The doctor was an OB/Gyn, an obstetrician who specializes in gynecological surgery.

He has a full beard and wears black sunglasses with a red ring.

“This is an emergency,” the doctor said as he closed the surgical suite doors.

I asked what I should do now that my OB/gyn is dead.

He didn’t think much about it, and I couldn’t imagine the reaction from the family.

“My family is trying to figure out what to do with their father,” he said.

“What do you think?

He was an amazing surgeon.

He helped so many people, and he’s gone.

But what do you do with the person who killed him?

It’s like I told you before, you know?

I don’t know how to go forward.

I just want to go home.

My mom, who was my best friend, and my brother are still here, too.”

I looked up at the doctor, who looked like he was in his late 30s.

“Are you okay?”

I asked.

He shook his head.

“I’ve never felt so alone,” he replied.

I couldn, too, and, with the help of my family, I got in touch with my dad.

I’m not sure if he will be okay.

He passed away a few weeks ago, but I’m still grieving.

The last time I talked to him, he said that he wanted to tell me that I was right.

But he was always there to help, so I thought it was time for a break.

I called my dad’s office to talk about the funeral and about the next steps.

It was the same old routine, but the funeral was different.

A funeral is usually a family gathering.

“We’re all just here to show support for you, dad,” a man in the lobby of my dad´s office said.

He asked me to sit down, and as I sat down, he pulled me into a hug.

“It’s a tough time,” he told me.

“But we’re not here to fight.

You can always call someone.”

I can’t say the same for my father, who I never spoke to in person.

“Please,” I said.

I was stunned.

It took me a moment to process the news.

I didn’t know what to say, and neither did he.

He did not seem upset.

He smiled, nodded, and told me to keep talking.

But I wanted to know what happened, and what the family was going through.

I needed to know, too — for the sake of him, his kids, and their future.

I told my dad about the new nurse.

He said he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“If it’s going to be that bad,” he asked, “why don’t you go ahead and make an appointment?”

I said that I wanted the appointment, but that I didn´t want to wait.

I felt like I was going to die, and the man was right, I said, but if I didn�t come in right away, I would be left in a difficult place.

He told me that if I were ready, I could wait.

“You should go in, doctor,” he assured me.

When I walked in, the nurse was waiting in a large office with a doctor and a nurse.

The nurse said that she was a nurse, and that she had to take care of the family while they waited for the funeral.

The two nurses walked to the door, and they waited until the man and I were alone.

We sat in silence for a moment, and then the man said, in a soft voice, “You don’t have to wait.”

The nurse looked down and took his hand.

I donned my black glasses and took the man’s hand and kissed him on the forehead.

He moved his hand from my face and onto my shoulder.

I leaned down and kissed the man, and we held hands.

Then he grabbed my waist and pulled me closer.

He began kissing my neck, my arms, and between my legs.

He pushed me to the edge of the bed and started rubbing my clit against my belly button.

“Your clit, baby,” he whispered.

The man reached around my waist, and pulled my underwear down.

The nurses started to leave, but my dad said