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He kissed the tears away from under my eyes and across my cheeks and then his mouth landed on mine.
“Let’s go home.” He told me.
Home.
That was ex
actly how it felt, like I’d come home.
We went back to the room that was no longer only his, but ours, and stripped out of our clothes. Henry kissed every part of my body, and he took it slow, almost worshiping my skin. He was showing me his love. Showing me that we weren’t just fucking. When he finally pushed into me, I wrapped my legs around him and we stared into each other’s eyes as we consumed each other with every thrust.
We’d been together for three months when I woke up one morning and the room tilted when I tried to get out of bed. An overwhelming feeling of nausea came over me and I dashed to the bathroom where I emptied the meager contents of my stomach.
“Amelia. Are you okay?” Henry followed me into the bathroom, concern etched across his features.
“Yeah. Just not feeling so good.” I said and then I wretched again.
I watched as Henry’s face paled. “Amelia, when was your last period?”
Dread filled my stomach. I’d been waiting to come on. My cycle wasn’t regular and anywhere between twenty-seven and thirty-one days and I was on day thirty. I was waiting for it.
“I’m due on any day, Henry. I’ll just have a virus or something.”
“Wipe your mouth and then get back into bed and don’t move.” He emphasized the words don’t move heavily. He quickly dressed. “I’m going to get a test.”
Nodding, I crawled back into bed. I felt drained, and no sooner had he left the apartment I’d fallen back to sleep.
When I woke, Henry was at the side of me on the bed.
“Are you feeling better?” He asked.
“A little.” I shifted myself slightly, so I was sitting up. “Just feel so nauseous.”
“You don’t have a headache or anything?”
I turned to Henry, and he was trembling. “No, Henry, I don’t.” I placed a reassuring hand over his. “Let me go do the test and if it’s negative, you can call a doctor for me if it reassures you.”
He nodded. “The test is in the bathroom. I bought three different ones, to be certain.”
I sat in the bathroom, read the instructions on one of the tests and peed on the stick. Three minutes later the two windows showed me that the test was complete and that I was pregnant. The bathroom door opened and Henry walked in. “Well?”
“I’m pregnant.” I told him, holding up the stick.
“Oh, fuck.” He said, and he walked back out.
It wasn’t the scenario I’d dreamed about as a child, that was for sure.
Henry rang an OB/GYN, pulled strings, and got me an appointment later that day. I was found to be in excellent health with normal symptoms of early pregnancy. It wasn’t enough for Henry. He wanted to know if Vee’s brain tumor could be genetic, and if I, as her half-sister, could be susceptible. I totally understood his fears, but we already knew the answers. Vee had just been unlucky. There was nothing hereditary about it.
The next few days were a nightmare.
Henry tried to ban me from going to work. It was hard enough when struggling with morning sickness, without Henry constantly following me around. Despite my repeated reassurances that I was alright, he’d snap at me, that I should be resting. The apartment was becoming a prison.
It was ultimately frustration and hormones that called time on things as they stood.
It was a Saturday morning, a week after we’d discovered I was expecting our baby. Pulling on my robe as I sat on the edge of the bed, for once I didn’t feel as sick as usual and I decided to get in the shower and then have breakfast on the bedroom balcony facing the park. It felt like a better day.
Stretching, I had risen from the bed and padded into the bathroom. As I walked over to the basin to splash my face, I accidentally kicked the trash can and it fell onto its side with a thud.
