CHAPTER FOUR
TRISTEN
The doctor's office smelled like antiseptic and fear, and I couldn't stop my leg from bouncing under the chair.
Oakleigh sat on the examination table in one of those flimsy paper gowns, her face pale and her hands trembling slightly in her lap.
She'd called me an hour ago, her voice shaking so badly I could barely understand her.
Spotting. She'd woken up to spotting, and the terror in her voice had sent me sprinting out of a meeting without a word to anyone.
I hadn't called Aubree yet.
I told myself it was because I didn't want to worry her until we knew something concrete. I told myself I was being protective, thoughtful, considerate. But sitting there in that sterile room with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, I couldn't quite meet my own reflection in the window.
"The bleeding has stopped," Dr. Langford said, pulling up images on her computer screen.
"And the heartbeat is still strong. But I'm not going to sugarcoat this, Mr. Wickham.
The placenta positioning we discussed last week hasn't improved.
Combined with Oakleigh's elevated blood pressure and this spotting episode, we're officially classifying this as a high-risk pregnancy. "
The words hit me like a punch to the throat. High-risk. I'd known it was coming, had been bracing for it since that first phone call, but hearing it spoken aloud in this cold clinical space made it suddenly, horrifyingly real.
"What does that mean?" My voice came out rough. "What do we need to do?"
"It means we need to be extremely careful going forward. Oakleigh needs to avoid stress as much as humanly possible. Physical stress, emotional stress, environmental stress. Her body is working overtime to maintain this pregnancy, and any additional strain could tip the balance."
I felt my jaw clench so hard my teeth ached. "Tell me exactly what she needs."
Dr. Langford pulled out a printed list and handed it to me.
"Limited physical activity. No heavy lifting, no strenuous exercise.
Regular monitoring appointments, at least twice a week for the next month.
A calm, supportive living environment. And most importantly, she needs to feel safe and cared for.
Anxiety and stress hormones can directly impact placental function. "
I stared at the list, my mind already racing through solutions. Twice-weekly appointments meant someone needed to be available to drive her. Limited physical activity meant she shouldn't be living alone, managing a household by herself. A calm, supportive environment meant...
"I live in a studio apartment," Oakleigh said quietly.
Her voice was small and scared, and when I looked at her, I saw tears tracking silently down her cheeks.
"It's on the third floor. No elevator. My neighbors are loud, and my landlord never fixed the heating, so it's always either freezing or boiling. "
Something cracked open in my chest. This woman was carrying my child. My baby was growing inside her body, and she was living in a shitty walk-up apartment with broken heating and loud neighbors while her placenta struggled to stay in place.
No.
"You're not going back there," I heard myself say.
Oakleigh's eyes widened. "What?"
"You're not going back to that apartment. Not while you're carrying our baby. It's not safe."
"Tristen, I can't afford to move somewhere else. The surrogacy payment helps, but rent in this city is insane, and my savings are basically nonexistent."
"You won't need to pay rent." The words were out of my mouth before I'd fully thought them through, but once they were spoken, they felt right.
Obvious, even. "You'll move into our house.
We have plenty of room. A guest suite on the main floor, so no stairs.
Climate control, quiet neighborhood, close to the hospital. You'll have everything you need."
Oakleigh stared at me like I'd just offered her a kidney. "You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious. The doctor said you need a calm, supportive environment. I can give you that. Let me give you that."
Her lower lip trembled, and more tears spilled over. "But what about Aubree? This is her home too. She might not want..."
"Aubree will understand," I said firmly. "She wants this baby as much as I do. More, probably. She's not going to let you struggle alone when we have the resources to help."
I believed it, too. Aubree was the most generous person I knew. She'd spent four years enduring needles and hormones and heartbreak, all for the chance to be a mother. She would never put her own comfort above the safety of our child.
Dr. Langford was watching our exchange with a carefully neutral expression. "Having a strong support system in place is one of the most important factors in managing a high-risk pregnancy. If Oakleigh is comfortable with the arrangement, I think it could significantly reduce her stress levels."
Oakleigh wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not a burden." I stood up and crossed the room to stand beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her skin was warm through the thin paper gown, and I could feel her trembling. "You're giving us the greatest gift anyone could give. The least we can do is make sure you're taken care of."
She looked up at me with those big blue eyes, still wet with tears, and something loosened in her expression. Relief, maybe. Or gratitude. She reached up and covered my hand with hers, squeezing gently.
"Thank you, Tristen. I don't know what I would do without you."
"You don't have to do anything without me. That's the point."
Her fingers lingered on mine for a moment longer than necessary, but I didn't think anything of it. She was scared and vulnerable and probably still in shock from the spotting this morning. Human contact was comforting. It didn't mean anything.
"I'll have my assistant start coordinating the move today," I said, stepping back and pulling out my phone. "We can have you settled in by the weekend."
"That fast?"
"I don't see any reason to wait. The sooner you're somewhere safe and stable, the better for everyone."
Oakleigh nodded slowly, a small smile breaking through her tears. "Okay. Yeah. Let's do it."
I felt a surge of satisfaction that bordered on relief.
This was something concrete I could do. Something tangible and practical that would actually help.
After months of feeling powerless against biology and chance and all the things that could go wrong, I finally had a problem I knew how to solve.
I would create the perfect environment for this pregnancy. I would remove every obstacle, anticipate every need, eliminate every possible source of stress. And when our baby was born healthy and whole, Aubree would understand why I'd made the decisions I'd made.
She would thank me for it.
The drive back to the office was a blur of phone calls and logistics.
I contacted my assistant Ciara and gave her a list of instructions.
Pack up Oakleigh's apartment. Hire movers.
Stock the guest suite with everything a pregnant woman might need.
Comfortable bedding, a mini fridge for midnight cravings, a small desk in case she wanted to work remotely. Make it feel like home.
"Should I coordinate with Mrs. Wickham on any of this?" Ciara asked.
I hesitated. "Not yet. I want to tell her myself, in person. Tonight."
"Understood."
I hung up and stared out the window at the city scrolling past. My heart was still beating too fast, the adrenaline from the doctor's visit not quite faded. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that ultrasound image. That tiny, fragile heartbeat pulsing against the darkness.
Please, I thought. Please let this work. Please let us bring this baby home.
It wasn't quite a prayer. I wasn't sure I believed in anything enough to pray properly. But it was close. A desperate, wordless plea to whatever forces governed the universe, begging them to let us have this one thing.
We'd suffered enough. Aubree had suffered enough. She deserved to hold her child in her arms, to feel that weight against her chest, to know that all the pain and loss and heartbreak had been worth it.
I would do whatever it took to make that happen.
Whatever it took.
By the time I got home that evening, the sky had faded to a deep purple streaked with orange.
Aubree was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove that smelled like garlic and tomatoes.
She was wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, her dark hair pulled up in a messy bun, and she looked so beautiful it made my chest hurt.
"Hey, you," she said, smiling at me over her shoulder. "Perfect timing. Dinner's almost ready."
I crossed the kitchen and wrapped my arms around her from behind, burying my face in the curve of her neck. She smelled like her lavender lotion and something else underneath, something warm and alive that was just her. I breathed her in, letting the familiar scent settle my nerves.
"Long day?" she asked, leaning back into me.
"You could say that."
She turned in my arms, her brow furrowing as she studied my face. "What's wrong? You look stressed."
I should have told her everything right then. The spotting, the doctor's visit, the high-risk classification. I should have sat her down at the kitchen table and walked her through every detail, asked for her input, made the decision about Oakleigh together.
But I looked at her face, at the softness in her eyes and the remnants of the smile she'd greeted me with, and I couldn't do it.
She'd been so happy lately. So hopeful. After years of watching her crumble under the weight of grief and disappointment, I finally had my wife back.
The woman who laughed easily and teased me about paint colors and fell asleep with her head on my chest.
I couldn't be the one to put fear back in her eyes.
"There was a situation with the pregnancy today," I said carefully. "Oakleigh had some spotting."
Aubree's face went pale. "What? Is the baby okay?"
"The baby's fine. Heartbeat is strong, everything looks good on the ultrasound. But the doctor wants to be cautious going forward. They're classifying it as high-risk."
Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my god."
"It's going to be okay," I said quickly, pulling her closer. "The doctor gave us a list of recommendations. Rest, low stress, regular monitoring. We just need to make sure Oakleigh is in the best possible environment."
Aubree nodded, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Of course. Whatever she needs. We'll do whatever she needs."
I took a deep breath. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Oakleigh's apartment isn't great. Third floor, no elevator, loud neighbors. The doctor said she needs a calm, stable environment, and her current place just isn't it."
"Okay," Aubree said slowly. "So we help her find somewhere better?"
"I already found somewhere better." I held her gaze, willing her to understand. "Here. With us."
The silence stretched between us like a held breath.
"You want Oakleigh to move in," Aubree said. It wasn't a question.
"Just until the baby is born. The guest suite on the main floor is perfect. No stairs, close to the kitchen, private bathroom. She'd have her own space, but we'd be right there if she needed anything."
Aubree stepped back slightly, her arms crossing over her chest. "When did you decide this?"
"Today. At the doctor's office."
"Without asking me?"
The words hit harder than I expected. "I'm asking you now."
"No, you're not." Her voice was quiet, but there was a sharpness underneath that made my stomach clench. "You're telling me. You already made the decision. You probably already started coordinating the move."
I opened my mouth to deny it, but I couldn't. She was right.
"Aubree, there wasn't time to discuss it. She was sitting there crying, terrified that she was going to lose the baby. I had to do something."
"So you invited her to live in our home. Where I sleep. Where I work. Where I was finally starting to feel like myself again."
The guilt was a sick, hot feeling in my gut. "It's temporary. A few months, that's all. And then she'll be gone and we'll have our baby and everything will be worth it."
Aubree stared at me for a long moment. I watched emotions flicker across her face like shadows. Hurt. Frustration. Fear. And underneath all of it, that familiar resignation I'd seen so many times during the fertility treatments. The look of a woman who had learned to put her own needs last.
"Fine," she said finally. "If it's what's best for the baby, then fine."
Relief flooded through me. "Thank you. I promise, this is the right call."
"I know you believe that."
She turned back to the stove, stirring the sauce with more force than necessary. I stood there watching her rigid shoulders, the tension in her spine, and I knew I should say something. Apologize properly. Ask her how she really felt.
But I didn't.
Because deep down, I was afraid of what she might say. And it was easier to believe that everything was fine, that we were on the same page, that I was doing the right thing.
It was easier to tell myself that protecting the baby meant protecting our future.
Even if some small, honest part of me knew that I was already starting to leave my wife behind.