Harriet: Yes and no. He seems more relaxed and even bought me a pregnancy journal.
Margot: That’s so sweet!
Talia and Parker are silent. They’re less optimistic than Margot, and I don’t blame them. They’re only looking out for me. If I’m being honest, Warren’s avoidance of opening up is something I’ll probably need to learn to live with.
Harriet: I’m going to get some sleep. Speak tomorrow.
Talia: We love you!
Parker: I’m raising a glass in your honor, preggers.
Margot: See you next week!
I turn my phone to Do Not Disturb and flick off the bedside lamp. Satisfied with how the day’s gone, my brain switches off easily, and I slip under within minutes.
Bang.
I snap up in bed, clutching the sheets to my chest. The clock reads 2:56 a.m. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I try to figure out if the noise was in my dream or not, which is when my full bladder makes itself known. I pull on a pair of pajamashorts and tip-toe my way out of the bedroom toward the bathroom.
On my way back to bed, there’s another bang, followed by a deep, distressed groan.
Not in my dream.
I wait, listening carefully to hear it again.
This time, it’s a muffled sob.
Coming from Warren’s room.
Concern seeps in, and I bypass my room. I’m silent, holding my breath as I press my ear to the cool wood of his door. I don’t want to overstep until a sharp “No!”perforates the quiet house, and I shove all hesitation aside and twist the handle.
I’m not sure what I was expecting to find, but seeing Warren thrash on the bed, the sheets wound tightly around his legs, and a mask of pain cutting into his features is the last thing.
The door snicks shut behind me, and I slowly approach.
“Warren?” I whisper.
His eyes remain clamped shut, clenched fists twitching at his sides. “No. No. No. I-I’m sorry.”
“Warren,” I repeat louder and gently lay a hand on his forearm. It’s slick with sweat. He’s only in a pair of briefs and glancing down, his body glistens. “Hey, it’s me, Harriet. You’re having a nightmare.”
There’s no reaction. He continues writhing and choking out a broken, “I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry.”
You’re not supposed to wake a sleepwalker, but this isn’t that. He’s in misery.
Leaning over him, I take hold of his shoulders and shake. “Warren, wake up. C’mon.”
Dark eyes ping open, void and unblinking. Before I can react, he shoots up and a pair of strong hands wrap around mywrists. His bare chest heaves, breaths struggling to escape him with each ragged exhale. The grip he has is strong but not painful. He’s the one hurting.
“I’m so sorry,” he gasps, shaking his head. “I tried. I tried. I should’ve tried harder.”
“Shhh. It’s okay.” He isn’t fully awake and, not wanting to startle him to consciousness, I speak softly while easing out of his hold. “Lie down.”
His head jerks, voicing rising. “I have to help them.”
Lowering myself to the edge of the bed, I brush his hair from his sweaty forehead, hoping to soothe whatever memories dig their claws into his mind. “Lie down. I’m right here.”
Whether he’s aware of my presence or not, he obeys and settles against the mattress. I quickly replace the soaked sheets with a blanket hanging over the foot of the bed.
