Ivy felt a wave of nausea and fear. She knew without looking that the woman in the other bed was watching her and Elliot, jealous of what she thought they had.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she told him.
“It’s not a big deal,” Elliot said. “I just hope your dad doesn’t kill me for taking too long of a break.”
Ivy laughed despite herself. She knew her father could be single-minded and cruel at times.
“I mean, this is the birth of his grandchild,” Elliot said. “Hopefully, he’ll be lenient.”
“Who knows with James Harper?” Ivy said.
They shared a moment of silence, one that allowed Ivy to reckon with how pathetic she probably looked in Elliot’s eyes.
“I’m sure they’ll find him,” Elliot said finally, speaking of Daniel. “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”
“I’m sure.”
But at that moment, another contraction overwhelmed Ivy and swept her into a world of pain. When she returned to their shared reality, she realized she’d gripped Elliot’s hand throughout. When they released their hands, his was bright red and pinched-looking.
“You’ve got the grip of a monkey wrench,” he joked.
Ivy didn’t have the strength to be as mortified as she might have been otherwise. She wondered if she should ask Elliot to go call her father at the inn or call Daniel’s work to tell them where she was. But she reasoned that Jefferson had been there when Elliot had taken her away. Whatever happened, he carried this gossip. He would direct Daniel to the hospital—if and when Daniel was found.
The “if” hung in the air, threatening to destroy everything Ivy had built.
After another wave of contractions, Ivy lay back, exhausted, and asked Elliot to fetch some water. He hurried off, leaving her alone with the other woman in the hospital bed.
“My sister’s on her way,” she explained.
Ivy smiled weakly. “Good. Good.”
“I’m scared,” the woman said.
Ivy admitted she was scared, too.
“Your husband is handsome,” the woman said sheepishly.
Ivy’s heart twisted. She knew she should say that Elliot wasn’t her husband, that her husband was maybe at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean right now. But the thought of saying that all aloud overwhelmed her so much that it cast her into another violent contraction. She hissed with pain and barely heard the woman in the next bed trying to coach her through it.
When it was over, the nurse came in to check on her and told her the baby was coming faster than they’d expected. Elliot still hadn’t returned, and it made Ivy feel insane, as though she’d imagined Elliot being there in the first place.
As she lay there alone, waiting for the next contraction that would bring her daughter into the world, Ivy allowed herself to completely engage with her fears.
If Daniel were really dead, it meant that her baby would never know her father. One-half of their income would immediately disappear, and Ivy would start her life as a single mother, broken and frightened and emotionally weak. It meant that her baby’s memories of her father would exist, mostly, at a gravesite—setting down flowers and listening to Ivy’s memories.
Ivy shuddered. Tears fell down her cheeks.
But she couldn’t stop the panicked thoughts. They circled.
If Daniel were really dead, it meant that, if Ivy ever wanted to have another child, she would have to grieve her loss, make peace with that loss, and find a way to love again. It meant she would have to love someone enough to actually marry them. More than that, it meant that someone else would have to love Ivy enough to ask her to marry him! Ivy hadn’t thought anyone could love her, not until Daniel came around and convinced her otherwise. (And even that had felt strange and rocky at times, so much so that on their wedding day, she’d thought he was going to get cold feet and abandon her.)
Oh, it was miserable to be a woman alone in the world. Ivy didn’t know if she could handle it.
Footsteps shuffled down the hall. Ivy’s eyes were only half-open. She felt she was peering into her future, and it was dull and lifeless, lonely.
“Ivy!”
A familiar voice pulled her back to life. She turned to find Daniel, staggering toward her from the doorway, panic written all over his dirty face. He brought with him that familiar fishy smell, the same smell that she tried and failed to wash out of every jacket, pair of jeans, and single sock he owned. This was her husband, the man who’d decided to marry her, the man who’d decided to have a baby with her.
