“Your body’s just adjusting.”
That made sense. It had to. I began folding clothes and doing my biology homework. The ache faded after a while. Just like before. And I held onto that. Clung to it and used it as proof that everything was okay.
I sat on my bed slowly, pulling my legs up, my hand resting over my stomach again.
Gentler this time.
Careful.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“I’m just overthinking.”
I closed my eyes.
Let myself breathe.
Let myself settle back into that fragile sense of safety I had been holding onto since the clinic.
Because I needed it.
I needed something to believe in.
Something that wouldn’t be taken from me.
I heard Janessa coming in from a long night of partying, but she was polite enough to keep the lights out and at least try not to make much noise.
Just as I was getting into a deep sleep, I felt a tearing pain that pulled through my body so hard it knocked the breath out of me.
“Ah—” I gasped, gripping the bedpost behind me.
Another sharp pain hit stronger and sharper than the last. I cried out this time, loud, unable to hold it in. I clutched my stomach. “No, no, no, no—” I shook my head frantically. “No, no, no?—”
I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tasted the hot tears. The tears were flowing down my face fast and uncontrollably. I knew at that moment that Xander was not okay. Janessa turned the lights on and rushed over toward me.
“Chanel, are you okay?” she shrieked.
I looked down. And everything in me dropped. There was blood.
Too much.
Way too much.
This was not the spotting that the new mommy books warned about and call normal. This was wrong. This was everything I had been trying not to see.
“No!” I screamed this time. My voice cracked through the small bathroom, echoing off the walls.
“No, no, no, no—please—please?—”
Another cramp ripped through me, stealing my breath, forcing a broken cry out of my chest.
I pressed both hands against my stomach like I could hold him in.
Like I could stop it.
“Stay!” I begged, my voice shaking violently. “Please stay?—”
My body didn’t listen. It kept pushing. Kept taking. Kept pulling something out of me I wasn’t ready to lose.
