I make it to the brownstone in fifteen minutes, breaking every traffic law in the process. The front door is unlocked. I take the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding, my hands shaking.
I find her in the bathroom, sitting on the floor with her back against the tub, her face pale and tear-streaked. There's blood on her nightgown. Not a lot, but enough to make my stomach drop. "Giulia." I drop to my knees beside her, my hands hovering over her. I'm afraid to touch her. "Are you okay? Where does it hurt?"
"My stomach. It's cramping. And the bleeding—Luca, what if something's wrong with the baby? What if I'm losing?—"
"You're not losing anything." I try to sound certain, even though I have no way of knowing if that’s true. "We're going to the hospital right now. They're going to check you out and make sure everything's okay."
"I'm scared."
"I know." I help her to her feet, supporting her weight when her legs threaten to give out. "I've got you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
We make it to the car, and I drive to the nearest hospital with the same reckless speed I used to get home. Giulia is silent beside me, her hand pressed to her stomach and her breathing shallow and uneven.
"Why do you even care?" The question comes out of nowhere, her voice quiet and cracked. "You don't want this baby. You've made that clear. So why does it matter if I lose it?"
I feel like she hit me. "That's not—" I have to stop and swallow against the tightness in my throat. "That's not true."
"You said this marriage was just an obligation. That the baby was just a consequence. That you don't love me and you never will."
"Giulia—"
"So why do you care?" She turns to look at me, and the devastation in her eyes is almost more than I can bear. "Why are you here? Why are you driving like a maniac to get me to the hospital? Why do you look so scared?"
"Because—" The words stick in my throat. "Because we're already married. Losing the baby won't change that. But?—"
"But what?"
But I can't lose you. The thought of something happening to you or the baby makes me want to tear the world apart. But I'm terrified, and I don't know how to admit it. I don’t know how I feel about anything any longer. I’m angry and hurt andbetrayed, and I fucking love you anyway, and I feel like a madman because of it.
"But you're my responsibility," I say instead, gritting the words out between my teeth. "And I take care of what's mine."
It's the wrong thing to say. I can see it in the way her face crumbles. She turns away from me and stares out the window.
We pull up to the emergency room entrance, and I'm out of the car before it's fully stopped, running around to help her out. "I can walk," she says, but her voice is weak.
"I don't care." I scoop her up in my arms, ignoring her protest, and carry her through the automatic doors.
The nurse at the intake desk takes one look at us—at Giulia's pale face and the blood on her nightgown—and immediately calls for a wheelchair.
"How far along?" she asks as another nurse helps Giulia into the chair.
"Fourteen weeks," Giulia says quietly.
"Any pain? Cramping?"
"Yes. And bleeding. Not a lot, but?—"
"We're going to take you back right now and get you checked out." The nurse looks at me. "Are you the father?"
"Yes."
"Come with me."
They wheel Giulia through a set of double doors, and I follow, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
They take her to a room and help her onto a bed. A doctor appears, young and competent-looking, with kind eyes. "I'm Dr. Martinez," she says, pulling on gloves. "Let's see what's going on."
The examination feels like it takes hours. The doctor asks questions, presses on Giulia's abdomen, and checks the bleeding. Every second is agony. Finally, she pulls out a portable ultrasound machine.
