Page 47 of The Scars We Heal

The bright fluorescent lights and sterile smell—the kind that clung to everything—made the waiting room walls feel like they were closing in on me, slowly inching closer together until they crushed me between them.

My hands gripped the armrests of my chair, knuckles gradually turning white as I inhaled a long, steady breath.

A wave of pain radiated through my abdomen, and I bit back a cry. Even though it was only a contraction, my spine felt like it was snapping in half, the sensation striking me like an electrical current.

I needed to get out of here.

I was going to die.

No. No. No.

Tears welled in my eyes, and I squeezed them shut, attempting to stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks in hot streaks.

Muffled voices spoke in rapid succession around me, but the pain was so intense that I couldn’t make out what they were saying other than a few scattered words.

“Dangerous.”

“Abnormal.”

“Emergency C-section.”

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, thirty minutes or an hour maybe, but suddenly Jake was right next to me, resting a hand on my shoulder and forcing me back to the present day. “Cait? Is everything okay?”

I sucked in a shaky breath. “Y-yeah, everything’s fine.”

He knelt in front of me, getting down to my eye level before resting his hands on my knees and looking at me with those clear, blue eyes. “Hey, look at me. You’re okay, you’re safe, yeah?”

My gaze met his, and it was like staring into a glacial stream, immediately bringing my nerves back down. “Sorry. I just”—I swallowed—“don’t have great memories of hospitals.”

“We can go home and come back later,” he offered. “Colter’s here. He’s back there with Ellison. It’s okay to leave if you need to.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be all right.” I hesitated for a moment, my eyes flicking to the side then back to Jake again.

As though he sensed my apprehension, he asked, “What do you need from me?”

Blowing out a breath, I whispered, “Can you just stay here with me?”

“Of course.” He stood, moving to the seat next to me. “What did you do this morning?”

Grateful for the change of subject, my lips curved into a soft smile. “Chores, mostly. Look at this photo I took when I was doing laundry, though.”

This morning, after I’d taken the laundry out of the dryer, I found Cheeto curled up into a tiny ball in the basket. It was too cute not to snap a picture.

“What a little rascal.” Jake chuckled.

“I’m just dreading the day he can jump onto the counters or gets brave enough to climb the curtains,” I muttered, although my voice still had a light twinge of amusement.

“Yeah, and he’s an orange cat, so you know he’s just going to be a menace one day.”

I groaned. “Remind me again why I agreed to let Whitley have a kitten?”

“She’s very persuasive.”

With a half-laugh, I gave a fond shake of my head at the image of my daughter convincing Jake to let her keep the cat. I could only imagine how that went—wide eyes brimming with tears and the way she quivered her lip just right.

“I hope everything is going okay back there,” I murmured, staring down the hallway.

“Hey.” Jake rested his hand on my knee. “Everything will be great. Don’t think about that.”