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“He didn’t tell you?” Her face falls. “I was really hoping he did. He wants to file for joint custody. A week on, week off type of arrangement.”
Under the table, my hands sweat profusely as my blood begins to boil. “When did he tell you this?”
“We’ve been speaking about it for a while, but late last night we talked about it again. He’s got the papers drawn up.” She pulls an envelope out of her bag.
I can barely see; I’m fueled by anger and every shade of red is blinding me. My stomach is twisted into heavy knots and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“I need to go.”
Dizzy, I stand up and leave her behind as she calls after me.
Somehow I make my way back to work, confused and utterly disappointed. At my desk, I throw the flowers into the trash and grab my scissors, angrily cutting every stem to pieces. I take a picture of it and send it to him.
Me: Fucking #Jerk
My hands are shaking and I see Vicky standing over me, mouthing something. I try to hear her, but the warm gush of liquid running down my legs confuses me.
“Holy fuck, Pres! Your water just broke!” Vicky screams.
I look down and then back up at her in a blind panic, only to hear her yell to the office, “It’s showtime, baby!”
Chapter Twenty
I’m staring at this face.
It’s soft and wrinkly and everything is so small.
Ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes.
It’s my baby.
***
My life does a complete one-eighty in just twenty-four short hours.
It all happens so fast from the moment my water breaks. In a state of denial I want to go home, but Vicky shoves me into a cab with her and we head straight to the hospital. I wasn’t experiencing any pain physically, but emotionally I was angry, hurt, and humiliated by what the Jerk did. The delusional fog I was in, which I blame on the hormones, has come to a screeching halt, and there is no time to even think about that as I lay in the hospital bed, tied up to a number of drips and monitors.
“I’ve tried to call Haden,” Vicky tells me.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re having this baby and he needs to be here.” She shakes her head at my question, gently patting my forehead with a cold washcloth.
“I’m not having this baby. I’m only thirty-five weeks along. It’s not going anywhere.”
Denial only gets you so far. No matter how much I try to talk myself out of it, the contractions are a mutha-fucking giant slap of reality. The pain ricocheted across my back, then moved towards the front. Gritting my teeth in this unbearable state, I’m given a jug of ice cubes to suck on for the next lot of contractions. I want to throw the jug at the nurse, but physical abuse won’t help me and I shouldn’t be mean to the person who has the drugs.
“It keeps going to voicemail,” Vicky says in a worried tone.
“Well, fucking good! He doesn’t deserve to be here anyway!” I yell, mid-contraction.
The second the contraction winds down, I start to cry, and I mean ugly-sob cry. Even with Vicky by my side, I feel so alone and terrified. She holds onto me for what feels like forever until I manage to calm myself down.
Mom and Dad are honeymooning in Fiji; they only just arrived there yesterday. Gemma and Melissa are staying at some B&B and their phones have no coverage. To add to everything else, the crib hasn’t arrived yet and I haven’t washed all the clothes like you’re supposed to, plus my hospital bag is sitting beside my bed at home.
This was not my plan. This is so unplanned, it makes me want to cry even more.
“Shhh.” Vicky strokes my hair at the same time Kate rushes into the room with Lex right behind her.
