What if I messed up before there even was a baby?
My hands were shaking harder now.
I unlocked my phone.
Pulled up Amai’s contact.
Stared at his name.
Amai Landry.
It was 10:52 PM.
Too late to call.
I pressed the call button before I could talk myself out of it.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then his voice, “What’s wrong?”
Nothello.Notwho is this?
Just,What’s wrong.
Like he’d been waiting.
“I—” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. Tried again. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late. I just—the injection site is swollen, and I don’t know if that’s normal or if I did something wrong. I read the pamphlet, but it says mild swelling is okay, but this doesn’t feel mild, and I don’t want to mess this up.”
I was talking too fast. Filling the silence because I couldn’t stop myself.
“Slow down,” Amai said. His voice was calm. Steady. “Where’s the swelling?”
“My thigh. Where I did the injection tonight.”
“How big?”
“Like—” I looked down at it. “Like a quarter. Maybe bigger. And it’s hot. Really hot.”
“Send me a photo.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Take a picture of it and send it to me. Right now.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear, switched to the camera, and angled it toward my thigh. The lighting was bad, but I could see the raised red circle clearly.
I took the photo.
Sent it.
Waited.
The silence stretched.
Then, “Stay there. I’m sending someone.”
