We end the call, and I close my eyes while my heart swells with affection and love for my friends, Seth, and my new baby. I’m amazed it hasn’t burst yet. I have no idea how I got so lucky, but I’ll never take it for granted.
Seth
It’s late by the time I get back to Ashlin’s place. The street is dark and empty, and only a faint light glows inside. I let myself in and follow the light to the kitchen, where I discover a note on the counter that reads:
Seth
Dinner is in the warmer. I’m in bed. Had the girls over, but they’ve both gone home. Hope you fixed what you needed to at work.
Lots of love,
Ashlin XX
Smiling, I trace the tip of my finger over the word “love,” then fold the note and slip it into my pocket. A wave of nostalgia rolls through me, shocking in its intensity. My breath catches in my throat, and emotion causes the backs of my eyes to burn. I blink rapidly, and shake myself. There’s nothing to get worked up about. It’s just that the note brings back memories of the best part of our marriage, before it all fell apart. Nights when I’d get home late, exhausted from a long day, and find a meal waiting, and know that the woman I loved would be in bed, ready to comfort me with her body and her kind words.
She’s such a nurturer. Soft where I’m hard. Filling in the gaps to make me a better person. While I never understood why she wanted me in the first place, I always figured it must be the same for her. That I complemented the places she was weak. Now, as I open the warmer and find a pie that smells amazing, alongside a selection of vegetables, I can’t help wondering if that perception led me to take over the reins too much in our relationship, and pushed her into feeling dependent. One thing is for sure: this time around, I won’t let her feel helpless or alone. I’ll be at her side the whole way, as her partner. Her equal.
I wolf down the pie, brush my teeth, check the locks, and switch off the lights. I pause outside her bedroom, listening to see if she’s awake. When I don’t hear anything, I inch the door open and step inside. Silently, I shuck off my clothes, then climb into the bed and cuddle up behind her. One of my arms rests on the dip of her waist, my hand caressing her lower stomach. She hums contentedly, and I kiss the side of her neck, then close my eyes, feeling like maybe everything is going to work out after all.
Ashlin
For a week, life is bliss. I float through my days at work and spend my evenings making love with the man I adore. But then, with a rush of blood in my panties, it all comes crashing down. I stare at the red liquid coating my thighs and tremble.
This cannot be happening. Not again.
Not after everything has been so damn perfect. Squeezing my eyes shut, I will the blood away, but when I open them again, it’s still there. A sob breaks from me, and I clap a hand over my mouth. I can’t start crying in the ladies’ room at the kindergarten. I need to do something. Get to a doctor. Find out whether my baby is all right.
But I’m so damn scared. I grab a wad of toilet paper and stuff it in my underwear, as if that could stop the bleeding, then fumble with my phone. Numbness makes my fingers clumsy, and I drop it on the floor. It slides beneath the cubicle door, and I swear. Without any finesse, I wipe my legs dry and exit the cubicle.
My phone lies on the floor, and I snatch it up and force my uncooperative hands to find Seth’s number. I call, but he doesn’t answer. It goes to voicemail. Panicking, I hang up and call again. Same thing. I leave a shaky message that I’m sure makes no sense, but I can’t seem to find the right words to explain anything.
God, what am I going to do? I need a hospital. The blood is still coming. Sinking to the floor, I rest my forehead against the wall and think. I can’t call Paige or Jessica. It would be too traumatic for them, given our histories.
Pull yourself together. You’re an independent woman. You know what to do.
With a concerted effort, I stumble to my feet and use the wall to support myself while I dial another number. 911.
“Emergency services,” a chirpy woman answers. “How can I help you?”
“I need an ambulance.” My voice is stronger than I expect, and I draw comfort from the fact I sound like I have my shit together. “I’m pregnant, and I’ve started bleeding.” I give her the school’s address.
“An ambulance is on its way to you now,” she says. “Stay with me. How far along are you?”
“Not long. A month or two, tops.”
“Okay.” I hear her tapping on a keyboard. “You’re doing great. What’s your name, darling?”
“Ashlin Isles.” More tapping.
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the ladies’ bathroom.”
“Can you get yourself to the entrance?” she asks. “Or do you need them to come to you?”
My head spins at the thought of trying to cross the school grounds in my current state. “Can they come here? People will ask questions if I leave alone, and I might scare the children.”
“Then they’ll come to you,” she promises. “Have you called a friend? Is there someone who can be with you?”
