She looked at the consultant as if he were a deity come to life. ‘It doesn’t feel like I’m dying now.’
‘We do our best,’ he said wryly. ‘I’ve looked at your charts and want to keep an eye on you for a while longer, but if your blood pressure remains stable and you keep holding food down, then there is no reason we can’t discharge you later this afternoon…with caveats, of course.’
Her blond eyebrows drew together in question.
He perched himself on the bottom of her bed. ‘Don’t let yourself be fooled into believing this is over for you. Even with the antiemetics, you’re still going to feel nauseous and need plenty of rest.’
‘How long will I feel like this?’
‘At the least until you’re through the first trimester, but it’s different for all women. We’re going to be keeping a very close eye on you and the baby for the rest of the pregnancy, so however long it lasts for you, we will be on hand to help manage it.’
‘Thank you.’ Her smile was softer than any smile she’d given Domenico. ‘That’s reassuring to hear.’
‘Before we discharge you, I’ll get one of the team to speak to you about how best to manage your symptoms at home.’ He turned to Domenico. ‘You’ll need to be there for that talk—I’m entrusting your wife into your care.’
‘Ex-wife,’ Marnie interjected before Domenico could agree. ‘We’re divorced.’
The consultant made an owl-like blink. ‘My apologies. I wasn’t aware. Your file hasn’t been updated.’
‘The divorce was only finalised four days ago.’
‘Right…’ He was clearly flummoxed at the news, which was understandable seeing as Marnie had been an inpatient for three days and Domenico had been a constant by her side and was footing all the bills.
‘I’m the baby’s father,’ Domenico felt compelled to confirm, and ignored the bitterness this confirmation provoked. If Marnie hadn’t been so desperate to divorce him, she’d have taken the pregnancy test much sooner. He’d have found a way to stop the divorce from being finalised, and there would be no question about his paternity. ‘And I’m more than willing to have Marnie discharged into my care.’
‘Good, good.’ The consultant nodded vigorously, acting like it was an everyday occurrence to have a patient pregnant by her ex-husband, then cleared his throat and looked at Marnie. ‘Are you happy to be discharged into your ex-husband’s care?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I want to go home. Tomyhome.’
‘You have someone there who can take care of you?’
A slower shake of her head.
‘Do you have a parent or sibling you can stay with until you’re well enough to take care of yourself? A close friend? I can make the call for you.’
Eyes clouding, her chin wobbled, but her voice was strong. ‘I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.’
The consultant’s pager beeped. He read its message and rose. ‘I’m needed with another patient.’ He fixed his stare back on Marnie. ‘Think about what you want to do. I’m sure we can come up with a solution, but I do not feel at all comfortable discharging you to an empty home.’
If Domenico wasn’t watching her so carefully, he’d have missed the wary glance Marnie shot at him.
For three days, she’d been too ill to display any animosity to Domenico. In fact, he’d had the distinct impression she was grateful; glad even, that he’d spent his days in the hospital with her, his vigil continuing even after they’d been assured the baby wasn’t in any danger. At the very least, she hadn’t told him to leave. Now she was feeling better, he sensed the stubbornness that had been her trademark these last six months reassert itself.
‘I’m not letting you go back to that flat,’ he told her firmly as soon as the consultant had closed the door.
Her stare was tired but baleful. ‘You don’t get a say in it.’
‘I do. That’s my baby you’re carrying.’
‘Yes, but I’m the one responsible for bringing it safely into the world.’
‘And I’m responsible for keeping you well enough to bring it safely into the world.’
‘You’re not my husband. You have no responsibility for me.’
‘I might not be your husband anymore, but we are equally responsible for the pregnancy, and I am not having the mother of my child living alone in that shithole when she’s ill and in need of care.’
She shot him a look of pure venom. ‘My home isnota shithole.’
