I chew my bottom lip as I fill in my patient's chart, chatting echoing around me, and I’m struggling to concentrate.
Miles has been off with me all week, and I’m beginning to think I pushed him away.
I’ve been angry, really angry—a hot, twisting knot that refuses to let go, leaving me brittle and raw.
It isn’t because I’m pregnant, every child is a blessing, especially when some women struggle to even conceive. It’s because yet another choice was taken away from me, and my husband doesn’t see any fault in it, no one does and that just makes my mood worse.
We’ve only been trying for what, three, maybe four months? We’re not solid just yet.
He still has his demons to try and get through. He’s still in therapy because of his mom and the trauma she caused him. She’s not happy that she’s been placed in an apartment and is no longer permitted to wear her old lady cut.
She’s making waves, and that’s putting a strain on him, yet he messed with my birth control…
As much as I love my husband, he should have spoken to me first, but now that I’ve been pissed at him, he’s acting weird.
I sigh as I place the clipboard on the nurse's desk before clocking the time, seeing my shift is over, and dread fills me.
Is he going to be there? He wasn’t on shift today after doing 14 hours yesterday, something he shouldn’t even be doing right now. I haven’t heard from him all day, when normally he’d message me throughout…
Dread continues to fill me as I go and grab my things from the staff room, and the urge to try to call Miles consumes me and I give in, the panic choking me that I’ve pushed him away.
I walk quickly into the staff room and grab my bag, my phone my main focus, and I bring up Miles' number before pressing on it.
It rings and rings before I’m sent to voicemail.
He can’t be mad at me for being mad at him for getting me pregnant without speaking to me, he just can’t be.
My frustration builds, and I slam my phone back into my bag before storming out of the staff room, my anger building yet again at my husband being an entitled prick!
Urgh, damn these stupid hormones. One minute I’m scared, the next I’m pissed.
Shaking my head, I make my way towards the exit, only to gasp to a halt before I hit a body and my eyes connect with my friend’s.
“Where’s the fire?” Kodi asks with a sly grin, and I frown.
“Nowhere, I’m just tired and didn’t see you,” I lie.
Shaking my head, realizing she isn’t in uniform, I ask, “Are you okay?”
“Well, no, not really, I could do with a friend,” she admits, and I instantly go on alert as she asks, “Take a drive with me?”
A drive with a friend and more time away from my husband before I kill him? Sounds good to me.
I nod and say, “Of course,” and walk with her towards her bright red jeep, concern for my friend itching deep inside me.
***
“Can you not just tell your dad that you don’t want to do that?” I say as Kodi turns down the road towards the clubhouse forty minutes later after driving around, and she sighs.
“I tried, and he lost it with me,” she admits before I watch her throat bob, and she murmurs, “He slapped me, Clark,” and my eyes widen.
“He did what?” I snap, and she winces.
“He went into a rant about how he lost mom because she didn’t listen and how he won’t lose me and that I’ll stand in line before he backhanded me,” she confesses quietly, and my jaw ticks as I just notice the cut on her lip.
Mother…
“You need to move out of that house, Kodi, it’s like a shrine to your mom,” I say gently despite my anger as she pulls up to the clubhouse gates, and she sighs because she knows I’m right.
