CHAPTER FIFTEEN
On the walk back to the main house, the cramps started. They were sharp, low, and knifed across her abdomen, folding her in half so suddenly that Emily gasped. She froze, mind blank, then forced herself upright and hurried as fast as she could back to the inn, up the stairs.
Daniel, she thought. I need Daniel.
She walked back into the kitchen, movements deliberate, one hand pressed against her stomach as if she could hold everything together by sheer will.
Daniel was at the stove, eating something out of a Tupperware container.
The radio was playing quietly, someone’s story about running marathons at seventy.
He didn’t notice her at first, but when he turned, his whole body went taut.
His eyes flicked from her face, to her hand.
“Em?” he said, voice careful.
She shook her head, tears already prickling behind her eyes, and tried to speak. “It’s—I feel like there might be blood. Not much. But—” The rest stuck in her throat.
He moved fast, closing the distance between them, his hands warm and steady on her elbow. “Sit,” he said, steering her toward the couch.
She sank into the cushions, her hand still pressed to her abdomen, the other wiping at her cheek with a paper towel that he handed her.
Daniel crouched beside her, both hands on her knees.
His voice was steady but the veins in his neck were raised, his words coming through tight teeth.
“How much blood, Em? Was it bright? Is there pain?”
She nodded, voice small. “I don’t know. I haven’t looked. Cramps, low. It just started.”
He exhaled, then nodded. “Okay. I’m calling the OB. Don’t move.”
He was gone, and she heard him on the line. She caught snatches: “...spotting... pain level… how far along? …right, yes, on our way.” He was back in less than a minute, grabbing his keys from the tray on the table.
“Let’s go. OB wants you at the hospital now. I texted Cassie and Roy. Roy’s coming to the house now, and Cassie’s on her way from town.”
Roy was there in minutes.
On the walk to the car, Emily shivered, the cramps biting deeper with each step, but Daniel guided her. In the car, he adjusted the seat, then started the engine. He drove faster than usual, one eye on her and one on the darkening streets, knuckles white on the wheel.
Emily pressed her cheek to the glass and watched the lights of the town smear past—the pizza place, the shuttered gift shop, the gas station. Every bump in the road jolted her pelvis, the pain now blooming outward from her hip bones, hot and insistent.
Daniel kept glancing over, his voice softer than before. “Let me know if it gets worse. Or if you need to stop.”
She shook her head. “Just get us there.”
The hospital looked different at night—brighter, washed out, the emergency entrance glowing under a harsh row of lights.
Daniel pulled up under the canopy, left the engine running, and jogged around to her side.
When he opened her door, she felt another wave of cramping and bit her lip to keep from making a sound.
He half-lifted her from the seat, cradling her shoulders and bracing her under the knees. “Okay, okay, I’ve got you,” he said, as if she might slip away if he didn’t. She let herself lean into him, her legs shaky, vision tunneling as they crossed to the doors.
Inside, everything was noise—shouts, phones, the echo of the intercom.
Daniel pressed the button for triage and explained, with a calm she envied, “My wife is twelve weeks pregnant, she’s spotting and having severe cramping, she needs to be seen.
” The nurse took one look at Emily and motioned them to a narrow vinyl bench.
Daniel helped her sit, then knelt again, both hands holding hers. “They’ll be here in a sec,” he said, voice strangled. “It’s going to be okay, Em. I promise.”
She squeezed his fingers so hard it must have hurt.
A nurse in navy scrubs came at a fast walk. She was maybe forty, hair cropped short, an aura of brisk efficiency. She crouched to Emily’s eye level. “Morey?”
Emily nodded. “Your OB called ahead. How long since the bleeding started?”
“Fifteen minutes,” Emily said, her voice thin.
“How bad is the pain?”
“Cramps, like a period but sharper.”
The nurse nodded, then slipped a blood pressure cuff around Emily’s arm and clicked it into place. “We’re going to get you back as soon as possible.”
It was minutes before the wheelchair came out, and they rolled her into a curtained alcove. Daniel tried to follow but was stopped at the threshold by a tech. “We’ll call you in as soon as she’s changed and settled,” she said. “Give us five.”
He nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave Emily. “I’ll be right here,” he called.
Inside the alcove, the air was freezing, and the walls were the pale, ill color of old eggshells. The tech handed her a paper gown, some mesh underwear. “You can change in here.” Emily nodded and did as she was told, hands shaking as she pulled the gown around her.
When she sat on the edge of the cot, she pressed both hands to her belly and tried to will the pain to stop. She counted to twenty, then to thirty, listening to the thump of her own heart in the hollow of her chest. She tried to imagine the baby—just a blur on last week’s ultrasound—still there.
The nurse came back with a warm blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, then took her temperature and pulse. “The doctor’s on his way, and your husband will be in soon.”
Emily nodded, teeth chattering.
The curtain parted. Daniel stepped in, face lined with worry, but he forced a smile. He took her hand and just held it. They waited together, suspended in a hush.
The nurse had said it would be a few minutes. It was twenty before anyone came. When someone finally came, it wasn’t the doctor but a tech, mid-thirties and unsmiling, holding a tray of supplies.
“I’m Helen,” she said, and began prepping the ultrasound like she was assembling a rifle.
Emily watched Helen squirt the bottle of gel, then braced herself for the cold and felt it bloom across her belly, an indignity that made her flinch despite everything else.
The wand pressed into her skin, harder than she expected. Helen’s eyes never left the screen, her mouth set in a neutral line. For a long moment, there was only the whir of the machine and the dull pulse of fluorescent lighting.
Then, faint and far away, the steady thump-thump-thump of a heartbeat filled the space. Helen adjusted a dial. The sound got louder.
“There it is,” Helen said, voice clipped but not unkind. “Measuring normal.”
Daniel let his head drop, forehead almost to his knees, then looked up at the monitor. There was nothing to see but a grainy flicker, a blip in the darkness.
Helen took her time, scrolling through images, clicking buttons, recording every axis.
Emily tried to read her face, but the woman was unreadable—a professional wall against the panic that must come through every hour of every shift.
When it was done, she wiped the gel with a practiced hand and handed Emily a few thin towels.
“Doctor will be in to talk with you soon.”
They were alone again.
When Dr. Lieberman finally entered, she was brisk but warm. She pulled up a rolling stool and perched on its edge, holding a printout of the scan in one hand and a notepad in the other.
“Hi Emily. Hi Daniel. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Emily shook her head, words gone. Daniel just said, “Thank you for seeing us.”
Dr. Lieberman laid out the findings: “The baby’s heart rate is strong.
Everything looks okay. The bleeding is minimal and not accompanied by any worrisome findings.
However,”—and here she shifted to look at them both, even, deliberate— “given your age, and the fact that you’ve had pain, I want you to rest as much as possible for the next two weeks.
This can be stress-induced. No heavy lifting, no excessive work hours, no stress if you can avoid it.
You can return to light duty after a follow-up, provided there are no more episodes. ”
Emily nodded, her mind already racing down the to-do list she’d abandoned at home.
“Will she need to stay overnight?” Daniel asked.
Dr. Lieberman shook her head. “Not unless you feel faint. But you need to call immediately if anything changes.” The doctor lingered a beat, then asked, “Do you have help at work?”
Daniel nodded, too fast. “Yes. We have a full staff.”
Emily was about to protest, to say the house would fall apart without her, but the memory of the pain stopped her. Instead, she just said, “Okay. I’ll rest.”
The doctor smiled. “Good. I’ll send Helen back with your paperwork.”
Emily’s brain was a swarm: What about the house schedule? The lighthouse deal, hanging by a thread? Chantelle’s idea for the music events? Roy and his decline?
She breathed out, slow and shaky. “We’re going to need a plan,” she said.
Daniel grinned, relief softening his whole face. “We’re good at plans.”
He kissed her on the forehead, then picked up her shoes and handed them over. “Let’s go home.”
The walk to the car was slow, and Daniel kept his arm around her waist, matching her every step. The headlights blinked as they approached and he unlocked the car, and Emily realized how exhausted she was—not just in her mind, but in her bones, her very core.
As they buckled in, she glanced at her phone.
Three new messages: one from Cassie (We’re fine, go slow, Charlotte’s sleeping), one from Patricia (Call me.
I’ll come to where you are.), and one from the inn itself—an automated alert from the guest report system about a leaky faucet on the third floor.
Emily texted Cassie and her mom that they were heading home and closed her eyes as the road wound back toward it.
The houses along the route were sunk deep in shadow.
She didn’t realize how badly she wanted to be inside, safe, until Daniel cut the engine and she heard the front door open before they’d even reached the steps.
Patricia appeared, framed by the screen, with a groggy, just-woken Charlotte perched on her hip and worry evident on her face.
Emily stepped out, her legs stiff. Daniel hovered at her elbow, but she waved him off and let Patricia’s concern draw her up the steps.
“Thank God,” Patricia said, giving Charlotte to Daniel and hugging Emily, quick and hard. “You scared the hell out of us.”
Emily managed a smile. “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. They said to rest.”
Patricia let go, eyes traveling over Emily as if she could x-ray the outcome herself. Charlotte clung to Daniel.
“Da,” she said seriously.
Inside the family suite upstairs, the air was heavy with the smell of baking—a banana bread, if Emily had to guess. Cassie was a stress baker, and Emily almost smiled at that.
Chantelle popped up from the dining room, hair wild, eyes bright with panic. “Did you see the baby? Is it ok? Can you still see it even when it’s so small?” she asked, before Emily had a chance to sit.
Emily folded herself into the armchair by the window in the living room, the cushion cradling her body. She braced for Chantelle’s reaction, feeling guilty that this is how her daughter’d found out about the new baby.
“They did an ultrasound,” Emily said. “It’s still there. Very loud heartbeat.”
Chantelle plopped onto the ottoman, her face twisted with skepticism. “What does it look like? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Daniel came in behind them and flopped onto the sofa. “Like a lima bean,” he offered. “A very stubborn lima bean. And, honey, we were waiting until things were past the point of… possible trouble. We wanted it to be a good surprise, not a secret.”
“Hmmmph. I didn’t get told, either,” Cassie said, coming into the kitchen from the pantry. “Neither did Roy.”
“Were is Dad?” Emily asked, not taking the bait. She wasn’t upset that Patricia had told. It couldn’t have been avoided.
“We sent him back to the Carriage House to rest,” Cassie said, coming over to wrap her arms around Emily. Emily felt the tears on her cheeks wet her own skin. Emily hugged her back fiercely.
Patricia hovered, then brought a mug of tea, the steam curling in delicate whorls, and set it on the end table.
Emily wrapped both hands around it, grateful for the heat. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Doctor says bed rest?” Patricia asked.
“Not strictly, just lots of rest. No lifting, no stress, no running a marathon anytime soon,” Emily said, aiming for casual.
Daniel shot her a look, but didn’t correct. Instead, he reached for Charlotte, who had taken a lap around the living room and was now gnawing on the couch arm.
Emily pressed a hand to her belly—not to check, not even for comfort, but just to remind herself that the new life was still there, still possible, after the day’s scare.
With her other hand, she traced the condensation at the edge of the window, leaving a faint crescent in its wake. It was cold under her touch.
That cold, along with Patricia being here, so loving, so supportive now, made it hard not to think about the months leading up to last Christmas.
Patricia had started to grow distant then, her texts getting shorter, calls nonexistent, her reasons for skipping family dinners stacking up like junk mail.
Emily remembered the distance of it, the way every excuse stung. She’d spent whole nights wondering what she’d done, or what invisible line she’d crossed, and had come up with nothing except the deep, churning ache of being again on the receiving end of her mother’s mercurial nature.
But tonight it felt different. Emily still wasn’t sure what had changed. She turned it over in her mind, but couldn’t put her finger on what might have made her mom do such a drastic about-face.
Looking over the living room, watching Cassie, Patricia, Daniel, Chantelle, and sweet little Charlotte interact, Emily didn’t want to question it. Like the life inside of her, she just wanted to hold on.