“Good?” he chuckles.
“I don’t know if it’s pregnancy hormones or what, but this might be the best red velvet cake I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”
He laughs softly and presses a kiss to my shoulder. “I’m glad you and the babies approve.”
The room falls silent while we eat, but after a few minutes he speaks again.
“So, I ran into Doctor Ricci downstairs,” he says, and I chew slower as I listen.
“She said that typically twin pregnancies don’t make it to forty weeks,” he says softly. “So there’s a good chance you could go into labour any day now.”
Just like that, the cake tastes like ash in my mouth and I lower my fork.
I’ve been avoiding thinking about labour, although I know it’s imminent at this point. With Gabriella, everything happened so differently. She was so small and fragile, but these babiesare bigger, and stronger. The thought of pushing them into the world makes fear crawl up my spine.
Gabriel must notice the shift in me because he squeezes my thigh gently.
“Everything will be alright,” he says.
I nod, putting on a brave face. I haven’t told him about the intrusive thoughts that wake me up at night and whisper that things will probably go wrong for us. That maybe joyisfollowed by loss.
I tell myself it’s just my trauma of losing Gabriella that’s talking, not my intuition.
“You’re right,” I finally say, because even if I don’t fully believe it, maybe if I say it enough times, I will.
THIRTY-EIGHT
GABRIEL | FLORENCE
TWO WEEKS LATER
“Gabriel,”I hear Zalea call from her bed.
It’s the middle of the night and completely pitch black.
“Gabriel, I need you,” she says, her voice small and shaking.
I feel around until I find the switch for the lamp next to the bed and quickly rush over to her.
She’s sitting up, the sheets pulled off her body, and staring down at a pool of blood. The sight kicks me into overdrive and I sprint out of the room, shouting for nurses and doctors, and then run back into the room to find her sobbing.
“Baby, baby, take some deep breaths,” I say, grabbing onto her face and forcing her to look at me, but I know my words aren’t getting through. “We need help!” I shout just as five nurses and Doctor Ricci rush in.
They begin speaking in urgent Italian as the nurses begin checking the monitors.
“Zalea,” Doctor Ricci says firmly, stepping in front of her so she has no choice but to focus. “Look at me.”
Zalea’s sobs come out panicked. “The babies?—”
“We’re going to take care of you,” the doctor says. “But I need you to breathe for me.”
One of the nurses presses fresh gauze between Zalea’s legs, while another is adjusting the fetal monitor strapped around her stomach, the monitors beeping loudly now.
I force myself to look at the screen and see the dropping heart rates.
“What’s happening?” I demand, my voice almost unrecognizable.
Doctor Ricci glances at the monitor and then back at me. “She’s bleeding heavily. Likely a placental abruption.”
