Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
By the middle of May, Abby could no longer mistake the curve beneath her dresses for the result of a large lunch. Her body had changed gradually and then, over the course of one warm weekend, seemed to announce the pregnancy to everyone who looked at her.
Coworkers who had politely ignored the early weeks began asking when she was due. Abby answered the question without offering more, then redirected conversations when people asked whether she and Hudson had chosen names.
The apartment had changed with her. The last boxes were gone, pale curtains hung in the living room, and the second bedroom contained a desk, three unopened packages of diapers from Sadie, and a folding crib Abby had bought after comparing safety ratings for two nights.
She had not assembled the crib. There were months before the baby would use it, and Abby wanted one room in the apartment to remain useful without requiring her to decide its entire future.
Hudson disliked that answer when he asked for photographs. He had begun sending her links to expensive nursery collections accompanied by messages about what his daughter or son deserved.
Abby replied only when the message contained a question related to health or appointments. Her attorney assured her that declining to discuss furniture did not constitute a failure to cooperate, no matter how many times Hudson used the phrase in his emails.
Robert’s review of the company accounts continued without updates to Abby. Hudson remained employed but had been placed on administrative leave, and his assistant no longer contacted Abby on his behalf.
Julia sent one message each Sunday. She asked how Abby was feeling, accepted whatever answer she received, and never mentioned the engagement.
Evan’s company secured a preliminary agreement with one of the smaller hospitals. He told Abby at the diner near Sadie’s, where they had begun meeting every Thursday unless work or exhaustion interfered.
Their dinners had acquired simple rules without either of them stating them. They did not discuss Hudson or Makayla unless one of them needed to.
Some weeks Evan arrived with figures from a hospital proposal still occupying his thoughts. Other weeks Abby complained about insurance forms, swollen feet, or the woman in her office who insisted that every pregnancy symptom could be cured by drinking more water.
They usually stayed for an hour. Evan returned to work afterward, while Abby went home to bed early enough that Sadie no longer sent messages asking whether she had eaten.
On the Thursday before the anatomy scan, Evan arrived twenty minutes late. He had warned Abby by text, and she was reading a news article on her phone when he slid into the booth across from her.
“The second hospital signed the letter of intent,” he said as he removed his coat. “Their legal team agreed to the pilot terms this afternoon.”
Abby set down her phone. “Does that give you the backup your board wanted?”
“If the contract is completed before the larger pilot begins.” Evan reached for the menu but did not open it. “We still have to clear their data-security review, but they use the same standards as the first hospital.”
“You already passed those standards.” Abby watched some of the tension leave his face. “Can you reuse the documentation?”
“Most of it.” Evan looked toward the server approaching their table. “We may even finish before the original hospital completes its second review.”
He ordered coffee and the roast chicken special. Abby chose soup and bread, then waited until the server moved away.
“You sound cautiously pleased,” she said. “Is that the closest you come to celebrating?”
“I told the team to stop working at six tomorrow, and I ordered dinner for the office.” Evan placed the menu behind the napkin holder. “There will be cake.”
“That’s definitely something.” Abby’s words came out clipped as she pressed her palm flat beneath the table.
A strange, insistent pressure throbbed low in her abdomen, pulsing in time with her quickened heartbeat.
She swallowed against it. “You’d better let them know you’re thrilled, before they chalk up your excitement to another staff meeting. ”
Evan lifted his coffee, the china mug rattling against its saucer. “I sent a text—with an exclamation point.” He looked at her over the rim. “I trust they grasped the gravity.”
His dry understatement was so typically Evan that Abby felt a wry smile tug at her lips.
But the pressure under her hand returned, gentler this time, deliberate, as if something inside was nudging at her.
She closed her eyes for a moment, listening—to the hiss of the espresso machine, to the scrape of chairs on linoleum, to the thumping echo in her own skull.
“Are you okay?” Evan set down his cup, concern flickering in his eyes. “You seem far away.”
Abby exhaled, hand still beneath the table. “I think the baby moved.” Her voice wavered with wonder and a flicker of awe. “I’ve felt things before—maybe gas, maybe the baby kicked accidentally. But this…this felt like intention.”
He glanced toward her stomach, his gaze softening, then met her eyes again. “Did it happen more than once?”
“Just that once.” Abby remained motionless for a heartbeat longer, absorbing the memory of that tiny, deliberate push. “Apparently this kid doesn’t want to do an encore performance.”
Evan picked up his coffee and swirled in the cream. “That’s ... pretty remarkable.”
Her breath caught. He didn’t ask to feel her belly, he didn’t reach across the table for her hand. A small, uncomfortable thought slid into her mind: Why did she want him to? Abby shoved it away as quickly as it came, blaming it on fatigue and hunger.
She reached for her glass of water. “The anatomy scan is tomorrow,” she said, her tone stiffening as she thought of the sterile ultrasound room, the hush of the waiting area.
Evan frowned as he stirred sugar into his coffee. “Is Sadie going with you?”
“She’s stuck in depositions, can’t shift them.” Abby peeled back the paper wrapper on her straw, heart sinking. “Hudson said he’d come.”
Evan paused, hand hovering above his cup. He looked at her, really looked, as though weighing some invisible scale. “Do you want to be alone with him?” His voice was careful, steady.
Her throat tightened. “No.” She snapped the straw wrapper in half. “I’ve been pretending the public clinic and the staff mean I don’t have to worry about him. But an hour in that room—him watching every flicker on the screen, every twitch of my face—it’s a lot.”
He nodded slowly, arms folding. “Do you want me there?”
Abby lifted her gaze, met his calm eyes. “Would it be awkward for you?”
“Probably.” He didn’t flinch from the truth. “But if you need me—if you want me—I’ll go.”
Relief washed over her, mingled with guilt. It wasn’t just about support. She took a steadying breath. “I want you there,” she admitted. “I just… I don’t know if I can face Hudson in that room.”
“I’ll wait outside,” he offered. “If it’s tense, you can call me in.”
Abby stared through the window at the glow of taillights drifting down the street. Hudson would storm in, posture stiff, voice low and accusing. “He’ll be furious when he sees you,” she murmured. “He’ll say you’re here to provoke him.”
Evan’s expression hardened, as though he’d rehearsed the perfect response. “Hudson will spin whatever story suits him,” he said quietly. “You only have to decide if having me there matters more than whatever he thinks.”
Abby folded the straw wrapper into precise little squares, trying to steady her racing mind. “It matters,” she whispered. “God, yes—it matters.”
Evan nodded, rising from his chair. The server appeared then, setting down their meals in a puff of steam and the clatter of cutlery. Evan stepped back, pulling out his phone. “Just text me the time and address,” he said, voice low but firm. “I’ll be there—wherever you need me.”
His hand came across the table and covered hers. The warmth of his palm seeped into her skin, and she felt her pulse jump against his fingers. She turned her hand beneath his until their palms met, a quiet alignment in the middle of all that noise. He held her gaze, steady.
“Whenever,” he said again.
She believed him.
Evan arrived at the imaging center ten minutes before Abby. He sat near the end of the waiting room with his laptop open and chose a chair far enough from the reception desk to avoid overhearing patients check in.
“You came early,” Abby said as she approached. “I thought I would be waiting for you.”
“I allowed time for traffic that didn’t happen.” Evan closed the laptop and stood. “Do you still want me here?”
“Yes.” Abby handed her insurance card to the receptionist. “Hudson said he was leaving the office half an hour ago.”
The claim seemed unlikely while he remained barred from the office, but Abby had stopped correcting the version of events Hudson constructed for other people. He might have visited the building for a meeting with Robert or used the word office because admitting where he had been felt intolerable.
She completed the check-in forms and took the chair beside Evan. He reopened his laptop after she told him he could keep working, and Abby watched the entrance each time footsteps sounded in the corridor.
At ten past the appointment time, Hudson sent a message. Traffic is stopped near the bridge. Tell them not to begin without me.
Abby checked the traffic map on her phone. The route from Covington Holdings showed no delays, but the bridge near Hudson’s apartment was marked red in both directions.
She replied, The appointment was scheduled for ten. I will ask whether they can wait a few minutes, but I will not delay medical care.
The sonographer called Abby’s name at ten fifteen. Abby stood and looked toward the empty corridor beyond the glass doors.
“Do you want me to stay here?” Evan asked as he closed the laptop. “I can keep your bag if you don’t want to take it.”
Abby picked up her purse. “Come to the hallway with me. I’ll ask how long they can wait.”