Chapter 6 Allegra
Allegra
“I was going to see my doctor for a normal checkup,” I say again to the nurse with the kind eyes.
“I know,” she replies sympathetically. “And it’s a good thing you did, or she wouldn’t have diagnosed the pregnancy as ectopic. It’s best to know this as early as possible.”
I nod, even though her words don’t make sense to me. I was supposed to confirm my pregnancy today, to learn what type of fruit my baby is, and to determine the due date.
I wasn’t supposed to learn that my pregnancy isn’t viable. That it ended before it really started. I wasn’t supposed to spend hours waiting in the ER, panicked, and mentally agonizing over the dangerous outcomes of an ectopic pregnancy if I don’t terminate it today.
“Am I having surgery?” I wonder. I think I’ve asked this question already but…my thoughts are all over the place. My head feels half underwater. It’s as if I’m hearing everyone’s voices through a long tunnel.
I hear their words, but I can’t process them.
The empathy in their expressions though, that hits me like a boulder of emotion lodged in my throat.
Today is painful instead of beautiful.
And I’m more scared than I’ve ever been in my life. Each hour in the ER waiting room, watching as more pressing emergencies were handled, had me teetering on the brink of a full-blown panic attack.
What if my fallopian tube bursts? What if my doctor was wrong and my little fruit slice could defy the odds, and live? What if, over and over and over again.
Levi paced the private waiting area, his anger rising with each passing second.
He spent the last hour glued to his phone, calling in favors to get my treatment expedited.
But, since the Covid pandemic, the hospital has been short-staffed.
The operating rooms have been occupied around the clock with backlogged surgeries in addition to incoming emergencies.
The system of care has started to buckle.
Finally, they called my name. Levi helped me up from my chair, his face pale, his eyes hard with frustration and pain.
“I’ll be right here,” he told me, pointing to his chair.
I nodded and followed the nurse with the kind eyes.
Looking at me now, she gently replies, “The doctor will be in to discuss those options with you.”
“Is my brother still here?”
“He’s in the waiting room with some women…your friends?” She makes a guess.
I nod. Of course, Kenny, Ivy, and Nova showed up.
“And the baby’s father?” the nurse questions, glancing at her notepad.
My heart swells and stutters. Derek’s here? How does he even know? Who told him? How is—
“An Ethan Dresden,” the nurse continues.
My hope plummets. My hands twist together, and I shake my head. “He’s a friend too.”
“Oh,” she murmurs, her eyes flicking to mine. At the understanding in them, tears prick the corners of my eyes. “Well, you have some wonderful friends.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I’m a lucky girl.”
A fortunate woman with no baby and no baby daddy.
The nurse places a gentle hand on mine. “The doctor will be right in.”
“Okay,” I agree.
She leaves and I glance around the hospital room. It’s sterile and severe. Devoid of color. I sigh and close my eyes, rest my head back against the pillow. The hospital gown is stiff and scratchy against my skin.
I debate if I should ask Levi or Kenny to come back to keep me company. But I don’t feel like talking. Tears push forward, filling my eyes. A few leak out underneath my eyelids and splatter onto my cheeks.
Ugh. I wipe them away. I don’t feel like crying either. I’m so damn tired of sobbing.
A light knock sounds on the door. “Allegra Rousell?” The doctor, a young, attractive man, enters the room.
I lift a hand. “You found me.”
One side of his mouth lifts in a smile but his eyes are serious. Thoughtful and sincere. “I’m Dr. Davis. How are you feeling?” he asks.
They really have great bedside manner at this place.
“Confused,” I admit.
Dr. Davis nods. He moves to stand at the edge of my bed and stacks his folders against the foot railing. “That’s understandable. I’m sure you weren’t prepared for the news you received.”
“Is anyone ever?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “According to your ultrasound, your fallopian tube hasn’t ruptured. In order to save the tube, and give you a greater chance at future pregnancies, I’d like to avoid surgery if possible.”
“Can we do that?” I wonder.
He nods. “Yes. There’s a medication we can try.
It’s offered via injection, and it will stop the fetus from growing.
It’s less invasive than surgery although it requires you to come back frequently for labs, to make sure the HCG levels are decreasing.
If not, a second injection is required, although one usually does the trick. What do you think?”
I glance at the young doctor. He’s older than me but I’d guess younger than Derek. He’s good-looking and compassionate. He gives off “emotionally-available” vibes the same way Derek exudes an edgy “fuck-off” demeanor.
Objectively, I know an ectopic pregnancy can happen to anyone.
But in this moment, I wonder if hot Dr. Davis and the gorgeous significant other I envision him with, would find themselves in this position. Or am I here because of all the stupid shit I did? Did my acting out, being irresponsible and careless, bring this on?
“This isn’t your fault,” he murmurs, as if reading my thoughts.
“What if it’s karma?” I blurt out.
Dr. Davis shakes his head. “It’s not. These things happen and they can’t be explained. It’s just one of those things, but it doesn’t mean you can’t go on to have a healthy pregnancy in the future. If that’s what you want.”
“I don’t know what I want,” I admit.
“You don’t have to know. You’re twenty-two years old.”
“Yeah,” I agree, feeling another pesky tear land on my cheek. I flick it away.
“Is there anyone you’d like me to call back to be with you?” he offers.
I shake my head. “There’s—”
“Allegra!” The door to my room flies open. The doorknob hits the wall and the door slams back, almost violently, before a tattooed hand with a snake catches it. Derek enters the room and immediately sucks up all the oxygen.
Dr. Davis turns toward him, a frown marring his face.
Derek doesn’t even see him. In two strides, he’s next to me. His knees hit the floor beside my bed and before I can form words, my hand is enveloped by his.
His eyes—bleeding concern and regret—bore into mine. “Fuck, Stellina, why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is hushed and broken. Cracked concrete and crushed flowers.
Dr. Davis clears his throat. Derek ignores him. He finds my eyes over Derek’s head. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”
I nod and watch as Dr. Davis slips from the room. The door closes with a soft snick, and I force my gaze back to Derek’s.
“Why?” Derek repeats.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
His eyebrows knit together, and his eyes scan mine. What’s he searching for? What does he hope to see?
I stare back but I’m not sure what my facial expression conveys.
Emotions swirl through me. Rapid and intense. There’s too many—all conflicting—to settle on one.
A part of me is relieved that Derek’s here. Another part hates that I want—no, need—him to be present.
And fuck, the guilt is intense. It’s a boulder rocking in the pit of my stomach. Did I cause this? Will this outcome into existence?
Then, there’s the overwhelming sadness of it. I feel broken and lost and empty. I feel bereft of hope. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not before me, Derek, and our little fruit slice, had a chance to hope and dream and be fucking whole.
“Allegra,” Derek murmurs.
“Hm?” I shake my head.
“Talk to me, baby,” he begs. “Please. Tell me something.”
“Dr. Davis doesn’t think it’s karma.”
A bewildered expression crosses Derek’s face. “Of course, it’s not fucking karma. This isn’t your fault, beautiful. If anything”—the color leeches from his cheeks—“it’s mine.”
“No, it’s not,” I reject the stupidity of his statement.
He swears softly. “How do you figure? I didn’t even fucking know. I wasn’t even here.”
“You’re here now,” I point out.
“Yeah. We’re together now.” He squeezes my fingers.
I don’t say anything. Because I know he means beyond this moment. Derek still wants the happily-ever-after and right now, I don’t feel hopeful about the future. Mine or his or ours.
Right now… “I’m tired.”
“I know,” he says. “What did the doctor say?”
I tell him about the injection.
“Is that what you want?” he asks.
I shrug. “Seems like the better option.”
“Okay.” Derek nods. “Then, let’s do it. Together. Whatever you need, Allegra, I’m here. You’re not in this alone.” He dips his head to catch my eyes. They flare. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I agree, squeezing his fingers back.
“I love you,” he swears, as if it’s a pledge.
“I know.”
“And I’m right fucking here, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Dr. Davis knocks lightly before re-entering the room.
“Do you have any questions, Allegra?” He keeps his gaze trained on me.
I shake my head.
Then, Dr. Davis turns to Derek. “I’m Dr. Davis. And you are…?”
“Derek.” Derek stands and offers his hand. Dr. Davis shakes it. Derek’s eyes find mine. “The father,” he announces.
Dr. Davis nods. “It’s good you could be here. For her.”
“Yeah. I’m not going anywhere either,” he repeats it again. Defensive as hell.
The nurse re-enters. She gives Derek a warm smile before helping position me.
“Where do you give the injection?” Derek frowns.
“In the buttocks,” the nurse replies.
I glance at Derek and bite my bottom lip. It shouldn’t be funny. Fuck, it’s not funny. But when my eyes meet his and I see the humor that fills his irises, it lightens the load I’m carrying.
I reach for him and he’s there, holding my hand, grasping my arm, and staring at me intently.
Our eyes hold the entire time. Derek gives me his strength, his affection, his love, and it makes the process emotionally bearable.
A small voice sounds in my mind, reminding me that I’m going to be okay.
That I’m going to get through this. Staring into Derek’s steadfast, dark brown eyes, I know it’s true.
I relax slightly and pull in a breath as the needle pierces my skin.
After the injection, I’m helped back into the bed.
“Just rest for a little,” Dr. Davis advises. “If you’re feeling well, we’ll get you discharged within the hour. Do you have anyone to help you at home?”
“Yes,” I say. “My brother, Levi, is—”
“I’ll be with her,” Derek cuts me off.
I gasp, my eyes snapping to his.
“You have me,” he bites out. His eyes glare at me. We’re in this together.
I sigh, not bothering to respond.
“Okay,” Dr. Davis says after a beat. “Do you have any questions for me?”
I shake my head.
Derek clears his throat.
Dr. Davis glances at him.
“Will this affect her ability to have children? In the future?” he asks.
My mouth drops open as I stare at him. Who is Derek to ask questions like that? Why is he taking an active role in this painful, awkward moment when I’ve been on my own for the past few weeks?
You should have told him, my mind whispers.
I close my eyes and turn my head.
“If she’s responsive to the injection, and we’re able to save the fallopian tube, Allegra should be able to have healthy pregnancies in the future. But an ectopic pregnancy also increases the chances of having a future ectopic pregnancy by 10–15%.”
My eyes fly open.
Derek’s staring straight at me, his gaze darker than a starless sky, his jaw clenched. His body is tense, with his hands curled into fists and his shoulders rolling forward. He snaps his eyes to the doctor. “Is there anything specific I should know for Allegra’s care?”
“Nurse Anna”—he points to the sweet nurse—“will come round with all the care instructions,” Dr. Davis replies.
Anna pats my hand sympathetically.
Derek nods. “Thanks.” His tone is clipped.
Dr. Davis looks at me. Tries to smile encouragingly. “I’ll get your discharge paperwork going. Check in on you soon, Allegra.”
“Thanks, Dr. Davis,” I reply.
He leaves and Anna follows.
Derek grips the side of my bed railing, his tattoos rippling over his knuckles. “Move in with me,” he says. “I’ll take care of you.”
“Derek,” I sigh. I don’t want to have this conversation right now. I don’t want to make decisions. I have no clue what the hell I want, but I do know that I’ll reject any option currently presented.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, brushing my hair away from my forehead. “We don’t have to talk about this now. Close your eyes, Stellina. Get some rest. I’ll be right here.” He sits in the chair beside my bed.
I nod and allow my eyes to close. Rest my head. Beg for sleep to claim me.
It doesn’t take long. I’m exhausted and drained and so fucking sad.
Sleep pulls me under, and I dream about that garden. But this time, it’s not luscious and green and bursting with color.
It’s dead. Dark and bleak and black and white. Shades of gray. It’s…empty. Barren.
In the garden, I plop down on a mushroom, plant my face in my hands, and sob. But even my tears don’t provide nourishment to the soil. My pain doesn’t make anything grow.
Instead, the roots of the trees twist and knot. The branches dip and wither. The garden grows cold.
And still, I cry.