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“I pushed him too hard,” I murmur, my voice catching towards the end. “I put too much on his plate, and I shouldn’t have done that. First with the baby and then expecting him to be able to change overnight…”
Sam frowns. “Isabella, you didn’t do anything wrong. These are all things Carter has to do anyway because of the baby.”
“Yeah, but I should’ve eased him into it.” I sniff and squeeze my eyes shut. “What kind of wife am I going to be if I can’t be patient and supportive? What kind of mother am I going to be?”
“Isabella, Carter and that baby are lucky to have you,” Sam says, her eyes blazing with emotion. “You just caught Carter by surprise, that’s all. As someone who likes to have control, he just needs to learn how to handle not having it.”
I let my arms fall to my sides, and I don’t react.
“Isabella?”
“I just want to be alone,” I whisper as a single tear slides down my cheeks. “Go away.”
“But—”
“Please.” I turn away from Sam and stare up at the ceiling. “It has nothing to do with you. I just want to be by myself right now.”
Silence stretches between us.
For a long while, Sam doesn’t do anything. Then she stands up and tiptoes to the door. I feel the weight of her gaze on me, but I don’t look at her.
I can’t.
Dealing with anyone right now is too exhausting and painful.
So I continue to lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and willing the time away. Every time I hear a pair of footsteps, my heart misses a beat, thinking Carter is back. Each time, without fail, I’m disappointed that it’s not his voice I hear or his touch I feel. I drift in and out of consciousness for the rest of the day.
Sometime later, when the sun is setting below the horizon, bathing the world outside my window, the door creaks open. Anita comes in with a bowl of tomato soup and some bread, the appetizing smells making my stomach growl. Reluctantly, I sit up straighter and take a few sips, ignoring the waves of nausea rising within me. With a frown, Anita tears off a piece of bread and holds it up to my face. I shake my head, the bile on the tip of my tongue.
“I know this is tough, but you need to eat,” Anita insists with the same encouraging smile. “You have to keep your strength up for, if not for yourself or Carter, then do it for the baby.”
I glance down at my stomach, and a jolt of sadness courses through me. “This baby is better off without me.”
Anita places a hand on mine. “Don’t say that. That baby is the luckiest baby in the world.”
I look up at Anita, a strong wave of exhaustion taking over. She spoon-feeds me until I push her hand away and twist onto my side. Then she sighs and rises to her feet. In spite of my protests, she leaves the tray on the nightstand next to me. I stare at it for so long that my eyes start to burn. With a sigh, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to fall asleep.
A short while later, Sam creeps into the room and places a hand on my forehead.
I hold myself still as she mutters to herself.
I crack one eye open, see Sam retrieve the tray, and breathe a sigh of relief. She carries it out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar and allowing some of the hallway light to spill in. I twist so I’m looking at the door, and then I fix my gaze on the tiny particles of light casting shadows on the hardwood floors.
Peace continues to elude me no matter how much I toss and turn or beg for relief. My pleas and prayers fall on deaf ears.
When morning comes, I’m still awake, and the niggling in the back of my skull has grown into a full-blown headache. Sam comes in to check on me and throws the curtains open. I hiss and throw an arm over my head. My vision dances in and out of focus as she drifts closer and her mouth parts. Still, I can’t make out anything she’s saying.
It’s like I’m standing behind a wall of glass. All of Sam and Anita’s efforts to make me get up and shower are in vain.
I drift off again, consumed by my grief and my loneliness. Sometime later, I stir awake and feel Sam’s hand on my arm. She offers me an apologetic look and looks over at a man with thinning hair, large glasses, and a stethoscope draped around his neck. He sets his briefcase down and snaps on a pair of gloves. Then, he holds my arm and presses two fingers to my wrist. A furrow appears between his brows as he and Sam lift me up, and he presses a stethoscope to my back. I can barely feel the cold metal through the thin fabric of my shirt.
When he’s done, I slump back against the mattress and stare at him through listless eyes.
“Her pulse is weaker than I’d like it to be.” He rummages through the briefcase and pulls out a pressure cuff. When it’s ready, he presses the stethoscope to my chest and listens intently. Wordlessly, Sam holds my hand the entire time and refuses to leave my side.
Then, he winds the stethoscope around his neck and takes out a pen. He scribbles a few things down and rips out a note to hand to Sam.
Reluctantly, she leaves my side and holds the paper as if it’s made of glass. “What about the baby?”
