You’ve got this. Your head isn’t going to explode. It’s just a little stress. You can do this on your own.
Freya lay propped in a hospital bed, her hair cascading on her pillow like a golden halo as she chatted amicably with Dr. Razminski and a pretty woman with brown curls she introduced as her friend and neighbor, Alice. And Viggo…standing like a statue at the window.
The episode ofThe Officemuted on the small screen TV and the bag of M&M’s and sunflower seeds on the credenza juxtaposed the scary hospital vibe. But I was riding a two-plus hour wave of terror and wasn’t quite able to process the downgraded sense of urgency.
“We’re treating her for mild preeclampsia,” Dr. Razminski explained. “Her blood pressure was elevated, which isn’t uncommon at this stage of pregnancy. It can manifest in a variety of symptoms—headaches, sudden swelling, abdominal pain.”
I glanced helplessly from Freya to Viggo to the doctor. “Will you induce labor or?—”
“No, no. We did an ultrasound and the baby is under no stress whatsoever. You’ve got a good two to three weeks to go. She just needs to put her feet up and relax. No more trips out of town.”
I furrowed my brow. “What about medication?”
“None necessary. Freya needs to rest and relax. That’s the best cure.” Dr. Razminski smiled kindly. “I’ll sign release papers now. Have a good night and please…don’t worry, Dads. She’s fine.”
I rubbed my jaw and glanced at Viggo. He hadn’t moved a muscle or said a word. That was worrisome, but my sense of relief outweighed my anxiety.
I collapsed in the chair next to Alice’s and took Freya’s hand. “Fuck, you scared me.”
Freya cradled her belly protectively. “I’m so sorry. I panicked. It all happened at once—a terrible headache and my ankles looked like I had melons attached to them, and my stomach was aching everywhere. Alice lives next door. She’s a writer and she works from home.”
“We check on each other every day,” Alice said.
“Thank you for that.” I patted Alice’s arm.
“Viggo?” Freya tilted her chin and held a hand out. She spoke in Swedish, her tone soft and soothing. He finally stirred, moved to the opposite side of the bed, and linked their fingers. His expression remained hard and unreadable.
Months ago, I might have thought he was cold and emotionally stunted. Now I knew he simply felt too much.
They spoke in hushed tones in Swedish. I didn’t know the language, but I didn’t need to. I could tell he was upset and that she was comforting him.
The sense of helplessness overwhelmed me. I wasn’t sure what to do or say. He seemed to be in pain, though. Real pain. It was in the slump of his shoulders and the firm set of his jaw. He’d been here before…or hadn’t been and he was scared.
Fuck, I was scared.
Viggo met my gaze and tried to smile. “I told you it would be okay.”
I blubbered a half-laugh and for the first time in hours felt my shoulders relax. But as I stood and stepped toward him, Viggo squeezed my elbow and walked out the door.
I stared after him helplessly. “He’s not okay.”
“No.” Freya shook her head, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Please go.”
I caught up to Viggo at the elevator. He stood in the far corner, arms crossed, oozing serious Do Not Disturb vibes. I gave him space and followed him outside to the knoll with brown grass and bare trees beside the parking lot.
He zipped his jacket and faced me, his eyes haunted. “You should stay.”
“I will. I just…what about you?”
“I don’t belong here.”
“Yes, you do,” I countered. “Of course you do. For me, for Freya, and the baby, and?—”
“No. Not again. This”—he gestured wildly in the direction of the hospital—“this is what I can’t do.”
“Because of Annika?”
Viggo growled angrily. “Not her. You.”
