Sometimes I don’t know how to process the world. How to handle the meaning from moments that are meant to be meaningless. Maybe because nothing ever is. Every moment, whether we’re aware of it or not, has meaning. Has an impact.
Like right now.
Leaves crunch beneath my feet, and the crisp fall air tickles my cheeks. It’s a gorgeous October day. The sort that reminds me why fall is my favorite season and that I’m happy to be done with summer. Then again, being pregnant over the summer—a particularly hot summer—wasn’t my favorite. Even if I’m more waddling than walking at this point.
I officially started my maternity leave three days ago when my nurse manager all but kicked me off the floor. I’m five days overdue, and no one wanted to deal with my enormous, slightly grumpy ass. But I’m not a sit-at-home-and-do-nothing person either. The nursery, which is the old guest room that alternated as a bedroom between me and then Aston, is all set up. My mother and Aston’s mother did the entire thing for us, just a little excited about being grandmothers.
The laundry is done. The bags are packed. Everything is in place.
But this little girl is taking her sweet time, and to hopefully help her along, I’m out here walking. My phone rings in my purse, and I pull it out to see my attorney’s number. My heart skips a beat as I answer. I haven’t heard from Josh again. Not since he was literally dragged from the MSICU by security as he tried to come after me, and I subsequently had my attorney and the police serve him with the restraining order and notice that I wouldn’t press charges if he stayed away.
I’ve had one of Forest’s guys keep an eye on him just to make sure he really was done with me. But he also hasn’t filed the paperwork I sent him, which means he could decide he wants visitation with the baby. It’s had me on edge, and now with this call, my heart rate is through the roof.
“Hello?” I answer, picking up the pace a bit, my nerves hastening my steps.
“Skylar, good morning, it’s Danny Johnson. Is this a good time to talk?”
“Yes. This works.”
“Great. Well, I won’t keep you in suspense. I’ve heard from Josh Wesley’s attorney, and he sent us the signed paperwork relinquishing his parental rights.”
“Oh my god” slips past my trembling lips. My legs feel like they’re about to give out on me, and I press myself up against the wall of a nearby building.
“I take it this is a good reaction.”
“Yes.” I’m totally crying, and there is no hiding it. “I’m so relieved.” I never have to deal with Josh again. And with him signing the paperwork, my child never does either.
“We’re going to file the paperwork with the family courts, and then they’ll review it and make an official ruling on it, but it’s done. After the baby is born, Aston will be able to adopt her without any issues or holdups.”
I gasp and cover my face with my hand, shaking and silently sobbing into it. “Thank you,” I manage. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s my pleasure. Just happy we had this type of ending to this. He certainly took his time getting us this paperwork.”
Because he had to exert power over me in some way or another, because that’s him. But last week I had my attorney reach out and remind him that if he didn’t relinquish his rights, then the moment the baby was born, we’d file paperwork with the courts demanding child support. Clearly that was Josh’s tipping point, and he caved.
“But it’s done now?”
“It’s done. Once we have the court’s paperwork, we’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you. I’m so grateful.”
“Absolutely. Have a safe delivery, and we’ll talk soon. Take care.”
“You too.”
He disconnects the call, and I squeal, jumping up and down on the side of the street like a crazy lady. But I don’t care. I’m so freaking happy right now. It’s probably why I don’t realize my water broke until the front of my leggings is soaked through and it’s dripping in a puddle around my boots.
Shit. Oh shit.
I’m half a mile from the house, and Aston is in surgery. He called me before I started my walk to tell me. I could call him, and the circulating nurse would put me on speaker, but I don’t want to rattle him or make him nervous and rushed while he’s operating. Dammit. And I can already feel that this isn’t fun as I’m getting a cramp—more likely a contraction—in my side.
I think through my people for a minute. My parents don’t live close and are likely both at work. Hayes is back in Paris. Quinn and Crew are in Buffalo with the team because Crew plays Thursday Night Football tonight. Braelyn is working, andRoman—oh shit. Roundhouse is right up the block, and Roman only lives another two over.
I call his phone, and he picks up on the third ring. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
I snort. “Why would you think something’s wrong?”
“Because you never call me in the middle of the day. For that matter, you tend to text instead of call. What’s wrong?”
