Between gasps, I keep talking. I can’t seem to stop.
“I was so stupid,” I mumble. “I slipped on the stairs like an idiot. I thought I was going to die. My shoulder’s killing me. I think I twisted my ankle. And now… God, what if it’s my fault? What if I did this to her?”
“It’s not your fault,” Luka says firmly. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
“She’s early,” I say again, as if repeating it will somehow make it less true. “She’s not supposed to be here yet.”
He leans closer. “You’re both going to be fine. You hear me? Fine.”
I nod even though I don’t believe it. My throat burns, and my eyes sting like hell. Not the worst pain I’m having right this second, but somehow, it’s where my thoughts go.
“Don’t leave, okay? Not until he gets here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I mean it,” I press. “Not even if someone tells you to. Not even if Petyr yells at you later. Promise me.”
“I promise.” Luka squeezes my hand. “Just don’t let him break my nose again, alright?”
I laugh despite myself.
Then another wave of pain hits. I gasp and curl forward. My nails dig into his arm. I can feel my pulse pounding through my whole body, every beat more painful than the last.
“I can’t do this,” I choke out.
“Yes, you can,” he says. “And you will.”
I picture Petyr’s face. I wish he were here. I wish I could hate him enoughnotto want him here, but I can’t. Not right now.
“Tell him to hurry,” I whisper. “Please.”
Luka nods. “He’s coming. Just hang on a little longer.”
I close my eyes. I hold on.
The room has gone quieter now, but the noise in my head hasn’t. The steady beeping of the monitor follows the rhythm of my pulse. One sound for me, another for her.
A nurse finishes adjusting a strap around my belly. The screen lights up with tiny peaks that move in time with the baby’s heartbeat. I stare at it like I can telepathically command the lines to stay steady.
Dr. Agar steps in, calm and professional, like she’s done this a thousand times.
“Will she be okay?” I ask through the tears. “She’s early, right?”
“She is,” Dr. Agar says with a glance at the chart, “but not dangerously so. Almost thirty-six weeks. That’s considered term.”
I blink at her and try to make sense of it. “So she’s okay?”
“She’s okay.” The doctor smiles. “Her heart rate looks strong. Your vitals are good. Everything’s where it should be. We’ve just got an impatient little one, that’s all.”
I want to believe her. I really do. But fear still sits heavy in my chest. The memory of the fall keeps flashing in my mind. The sudden jolt, the way my stomach dropped. That sharp, horrible pain in my arm.
What if something happened that they can’t see yet? What if the next sound that monitor makes isn’t so reassuring anymore?
Luka still hasn’t left my side. He stands just outside the nurses’ way, his arms crossed, jaw tight. When the doctor leaves the room, he moves closer again.
“You heard her,” he says quietly. “She’s fine.”
I nod, but the tears come anyway. “What if she’s not?”
