The tremor started in her hands.
Isabella noticed it first while she was doing her makeup, the eyeliner wobbling off course, smudging into a jagged line at the corner of her eye. She wiped it off with a tissue and tried again. Her hand shook worse the second time.
Great. Perfect timing.
She set the eyeliner down and pressed her palms flat against the vanity, breathing through it the way she always did when the anxiety climbed too fast. In, hold, out. In, hold, out.
It didn't help. Nothing helped until the medication kicked in, and the medication was three days late.
She checked her phone. No messages from the pharmacy. No confirmation, no tracking update, nothing.
Isabella grabbed the phone and dialed the number she'd had memorized since she was sixteen years old.
It rang twice before a woman picked up. "Studio Medico Armani, buongiorno."
"It's Isabella Russo. I need to know where my delivery is. It was supposed to arrive three days ago."
