CHAPTER 35 #2
Today, we begin the rest of our lives together.
Once the makeup artist is done with me, I grab my overnight bag and carry it into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I deposit the bag on the counter and rifle through it, searching for the long white gift box I hid in there before I left the house this morning.
I make quick work of placing the pregnancy test in the box and meticulously tie a ribbon around it before setting it aside.
I find my reflection in the mirror and smile. My face is flawlessly made up. My skin glowy with the perfect amount of pink in my cheeks. My eyeshadow is smoky but not too dark. And my lips are lined with a nude-brown topped off with a shimmery gloss that I know Killian will go wild over.
Much like it has been for the last week, my bladder screams at me, and I quickly pull my silk bridal pyjama shorts down and relieve myself before I climb into my wedding dress and it becomes impossible for me to pee alone.
I reach for the toilet paper but freeze when a flash of red catches my eye.
Every muscle in my body tenses and panic squeezes my lungs as I pull back my shorts and stare down at the blood covering them.
“No, no, no, no,” I whisper, clawing desperately at the toilet paper. Tears burn my eyes as I swipe the tissue between my legs and lift it in front of me.
Red.
I repeat the motion.
Red. Red, red, red, red.
My vision blurs. Tears fall onto my cheeks, destroying my makeup but I don’t give it a second thought as I continue to swipe at myself while praying for a different outcome.
With trembling hands, I reach for the bag on the counter and pull it to the floor between my feet. I root through it until I find some clean underwear and a sanitary towel.
Violent shivers of anxiety wrack my body as I try to clean myself up and pull the underwear on.
“Please, God,” I whisper shakily as I stand and peer into the toilet.
Big mistake.
My blood runs cold, and I sway on my feet as I stare down at the evidence of what I knew the moment I looked in my shorts.
I’m losing our baby.
My first thought is to get Killian. To call out to my mom or Bella and get them to get help, but I quickly dismiss the idea.
I can’t call him in here on the happiest day of our lives and tell him I’m losing the baby he didn’t even know about.
A sharp, stabbing pain lashes at my right side and I double over, my arms wrapping around myself as I suck in a sharp breath.
What the fuck is happening to me?
I can hear my mom and Bella’s voices through the door as they gush over my dress, but they feel a million miles away.
I want to scream but I hold it back, instead taking deep breaths and willing the pain to stop.
I pull the rest of my clothes off, grabbing anything I can from my bag and pulling those on as quickly as possible.
I need a doctor.
A knock sounds on the door, making me jump and I freeze. “Daisy, I’m going to find your dad and Bella’s going to check in with the wedding planner. We’ll be back shortly.”
I bite down on my lip to stop myself from crying out when another stabbing pain contracts my insides.
Sweat builds along my hairline as I wait for the click of the door closing behind them and the moment it does, I pull the bathroom door open.
The makeup artist, who’s still packing away her equipment, whirls around, the smile dropping off her face when she catches sight of me.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” she asks, dropping the items in her hands and rushing over to me.
I shake my head, my limbs feeling weak. “I need to go to the hospital.”
“Do you want me to go and get your mom?”
“No. Please, don’t,” I beg, gripping her arm before she can go and find someone.
The room around me spins, my vision blurring and she must see something in my expression because she nods and guides me toward the door.
“I…” I croak, my voice not sounding like my own. “I don’t feel good.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to get someone?” she asks again, panic lining her every word.
I shake my head. “No. Please, don’t tell anyone.”
She guides me to her car, helping me into the passenger seat and I slump over, the pain almost too much to bear. A door closes next to me, and I feel the rumble of the car beneath me as this woman that I’ve only met one other time, peels out of the parking lot.
Killian’s face flashes in my mind. Him standing at the altar waiting for me with his hands tucked into the pockets of his tux and his best friends standing beside him with proud smiles on their faces as he waits for those doors to open.
I picture the look on his face when they open, and he realises that I’m not there. The questions he will have when no one can find me.
And then, I pass out.
***
Beep. Beep. Beep.
My mouth is unusually dry as I try to wet my lips. There’s a strange beeping noise in my ear and it feels as though someone has dumped a tonne of bricks on my abdomen.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Seriously, what the fuck is that?
I attempt to open my eyes, but my eyelids are heavy. A groan tears from my throat, causing nausea to roll in my stomach.
“It’s okay, hon. Try not to move too much,” an unfamiliar voice says next to me.
Now my eyes do fly open, weighted eyelids be damned.
A slightly older woman stands beside me in pink scrubs, her hands warm against my arm as she pushes liquid into an IV.
“What…” I lick my lips again, my throat hoarse and sore. “What happened?”
Her brown eyes are soft as she looks at me and smiles gently, almost sympathetically. “A doctor will be here soon to explain everything. I’ve just given you some anti-nausea medication to help with the side effects of the morphine.”
Morphine?
I look around the room, taking stock of my surroundings. White walls, white ceilings, white sheets.
I’m in the hospital, that much is obvious. But why?
I attempt to sit up, but a gasp rips from my throat as pain shoots through my abdomen.
“Don’t try to move, Daisy,” the nurse says again, her hand still resting on my arm.
I frown at her use of my name.
“Is Killian here?”
Her eyebrows furrow in confusion. “No. A lady by the name of Charlie brought you in a few hours ago. She had to leave but she said she would be back to check in on you.”
Suddenly, it all comes rushing back.
The wedding.
The bridal suite.
The pregnancy test.
The blood.
I roll my head toward the kind lady. “The baby?”
She lets out a sad breath, her thumb rubbing reassuring circles on my arm as her eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry, hon. Let me get the doctor and she can explain everything.”
My chin trembles and tears flood my eyes as she rushes from the room, leaving me alone.
The door opens again and this time, a woman in her fifties walks into the room with a clipboard tucked under her arm. She’s dressed in a white doctor’s coat; her grey hair pulled back in a tight bun.
She’s no where near as warm as the nurse was.
“Daisy, I’m doctor Alice Redmond. I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”
My eyes are blank as I stare at her, waiting for her to explain what I already know.
She takes a deep breath and pulls her clipboard from under her arm.
“You were brought in by your friend. Unfortunately, you were unconscious on arrival due to the amount of blood you lost. We performed an abdominal ultrasound, and we found a large internal bleed compatible with a tubal rupture. You were taken to surgery immediately, where we had to remove your right fallopian tube and ovary.”
Blood rushes in my ears, louder with every word she says. My chest rises and falls faster as breathing becomes harder and the beeping to my left quickens as my heart works double time in my chest.
I thought I was prepared for what she was about to tell me.
I was wrong.
“I’m very sorry, Daisy.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand. Did I lose the baby?”
Dr Redmond’s face morphs from professional to pitying.
“You had an ectopic pregnancy. And what that means is, the pregnancy was never viable. Your baby was growing in your right fallopian tube instead of your womb, which caused the fallopian tube to rupture. An ectopic pregnancy is a life-threatening condition, Daisy. And had you arrived a few minutes later, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’re very lucky.”
Nothing about the way she delivered the speech was emotionless or unprofessional. She spoke every word with care and empathy, but her words destroy something inside of me.
Lucky?
I’m not fucking lucky.
She just told me they removed my fallopian tube and ovary. That my baby was never going to make it and now she’s telling me I’m lucky?
Anger, rage and heartache bubble up inside of me and if I could, I would get out of this bed and tear this goddamn room apart.
But I can’t.
Because my stomach has been cut open, a part of me has been stolen, torn from within me, before being stitched back up again.
I stare up at the ceiling. “You can go now.” My voice is cold, dead.
I wait for the shuffle of retreating feet, for the door to close behind her, and the moment is does, I scream.