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“Amen to that,” I muttered.
* * *
“See?” Nora said in the parking lot. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. You can breathe.”
I was still clutching my little ultrasound pictures, still only halfway present. “It’s not over till the fat lady sings,” I replied. “And by that, I mean me, nine months pregnant, screaming in a delivery room. Then,maybe, I’ll breathe.”
She stopped walking, her face fallen, structured with pity. “Oh, honey,” she said in a tone that punctured my heart, the one I was discovering was much softer than I first thought.
I plastered on a fake smile. “I’m kidding,” I lied. “I can totally breathe now. It’s all going to be okay.”
Nora frowned at me, likely noting the fact that I was lying through my teeth but thankfully not calling me on it.
It might all be okay.
Or it might not.
I had no control over that.
But I’d survive it.
twelve
The System
“You’ve lost weight.”
I jumped.
I didn’t know Kip was home. He did his best to avoid the place whenever I could possibly be here, only coming home to sleep and eat, as far as I knew. I’d been trying not to torture myself by thinking about where he was when he wasn’t here or working. Because he had to be somewhere.
With someone.
Not that that was any of my business anymore. He could fuck whomever he wanted. I had no claim to him. Beyond being his wife. And baby momma. But those titles were just that. Titles only. They had no weight to them.
I stared at him. He looked good. Like he always did. Tanned. Flannel over top of his muscled arms, long-sleeved shirt underneath, fitting tight to his torso. There was a thick shadow at his jaw because he hadn’t shaved in a while. It could almost be called a beard. It made him look older and more brutal. The lines of his face seemed deeper, too, or maybe it was because of the way he was looking at me.
His expression was hard, void of emotion, and he was looking at me. No, he was…inspectingme.
There was absolutely no heat or appreciation in his gaze. In fact, it seemed that in his appraisal, I was coming up lacking.
I fucking hated how self-conscious that made me.
My roots were showing at the top of my head because I’d abstained from my hair appointments out of an abundance of caution. I didn’t have any makeup on, which served to accentuate the pallor of my skin, the sunken cheekbones, and overall gaunt appearance to my normally full face.
I was wearing leggings and a tank, having made a half-assed attempt at doing some kind of workout and then vomiting in the middle of it.
Then I’d doomscrolled on social media, scowling at all the pregnant women running marathons and skipping around in heels and full makeup, further making me feel like a weak little bitch who wasn’t supposed to be a mother.
I mean, if I was supposed to be a mother, wouldn’t my body accept the little parasite inside me? Instead, I was ejecting any and all nutrients I tried to shove into my body.
Maybe nature had been trying to tell me I wasn’t supposed to be a mother with all those other losses, and I was only still pregnant now because Kip had some stubborn alpha sperm that wouldn’t admit defeat.
To sum up, I looked like shit and felt like shit.
It was not my best day.
“What?” I asked him, having to stop myself from wrapping my arms protectively around my middle. In fact, I had no idea what to do in his presence. It was awkward. Like he was some one-night stand who regretted fucking me and was hanging around because he had nowhere else to go.
