Chapter Fourteen
Brooke
I head home after a slow walk, one hand on my belly the entire way. It takes me longer than it should, the stairs feel like a marathon these days, but I manage. The apartment is empty when I finally push the door open, just like I knew it would be. It’s Sunday, but Matthew’s working again.
I can’t blame him. He’s working hard for me, for us, for the little life growing inside me.
Still, it feels like the closer I get to my due date, the more he works away from home.
I try not to take it personally, try to be practical but every Saturday and Sunday when he rushes off to work, it stings.
I hardly see Stella anymore, either. After her ex-husband’s brief, miserable attempt to gain custody, he disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving her with nothing but a stack of attorney bills and a few more grey hairs.
She’s been busy trying to console the kids and she did throw me a baby sure, but God, I miss her.
The Lamaze class has become my lifeline in the meantime.
They’re more than classmates now; they’re the only people who get it, the sleepless nights, the weird dreams, the things you’re too embarrassed to admit out loud.
I did suggest we come up with a better name for ourselves, but the girls were adamant: don’t mess with perfection.
And maybe they’re right. Especially since we’re not even in the community hall anymore.
The youth pastor, the one Zara said they scared off with their eye rolls and sarcasm, came back. This time with his father. We were told to either fall in line or find another class.
Now we meet wherever we can, parks when the weather’s good, cafés when it’s not, even the occasional jamboree class if someone can sneak us in. It’s chaotic and messy, but it works.
Sheera and Zara both had their babies already, tiny, perfect, squirming bundles of exhaustion and joy. It’s strange seeing them in strollers now instead of stretched out on yoga mats beside me. Becks is due next week. Ursula’s adoption family is flying in from out of state.
And that leaves me.
It seems I’m next.
I press a hand gently to my bump as I lower myself onto the sofa, breathing through a sudden, unexpected wave of nerves. My due date was yesterday… and still, no baby.
It’s winter, freezing cold outside, and yet I’m so freaking hot I could melt snow just by standing next to it. Seriously, it feels like my belly is a portable heater strapped to the front of me. A few weeks ago, I was so overheated I walked outside in the snow without a coat.
Boy, was Matthew pissed.
It turned into our first real fight. Sure, we’ve had small disagreements, about food, about where to put the crib, about whether pickles and a milkshake count as a “meal” but nothing major.
Honestly, we haven’t spent enough time together to actually fight.
But that day? He called me selfish. Selfish.
Me, a woman who hasn’t seen her toes in months. To someone whose centre of gravity is so off she nearly cries if she drops something on the floor. To a person whose nose has gotten bigger.
Yes. Nose. Why did no one warn me that pregnancy can make your nose bigger? It’s like some twisted biological prank. My shoes don’t fit, my rings don’t fit, and now my face doesn’t either.
God, there are so many things I didn’t know and maybe that’s a good thing, because if I had known, I might’ve marched into a doctor’s office at eighteen and asked for a hysterectomy.
I’m kidding. Kind of.
Because as much as I love this little human already, as much as I can’t wait to hold her, I’m also very, very sure this kid might be an only child.
I cannot, will not, do this again.
And it’s not just because of the biological stuff, though that’s enough on its own. It’s everything else, too. Everything no one thinks about.
Ever since I started showing, it’s like I stopped being a person and became an incubator.
A vessel. People don’t even look at me anymore, they look at my stomach.
They talk to my bump. They ask about her, never about me.
And I wouldn’t even mind that part if there was still a piece of me left somewhere under all of this.
But I lost so much on the way here. I lost my job, the one thing that made me feel like I was good at something, capable of something.
I lost my independence. I even lost that crappy little room in that crappy little basement that, yeah, sucked in every possible way… but it was mine. My space. My life.
Now it’s like I’m not me anymore. Everything I do, every breath I take, every thought I have is about the baby. About being a mom. About what she needs, what I should eat, how I should sleep, whether I’m doing this right or if I’m already failing before she’s even here.
It’s like Brooke, the woman with a passport full of stamps, who chased flight schedules and impulse decisions, who knew who she was, got swallowed whole the second those two pink lines showed up.
I feel a sharp kick, right against the inside of my ribs, like she knows exactly where my thoughts are drifting.
“Don’t you worry, baby girl,” I murmur, rubbing the spot where her tiny foot just jabbed. “Mommy loves you. She’s just… having trouble loving herself right now.”
Another kick. This one a little stronger. It makes me laugh, despite myself.
“Alright, alright,” I chuckle. “Point taken.”
I plant one hand on the cushion beside me and start to push myself up, grunting a little as I shift my weight forward. But before I’m even fully upright, I feel it, a sudden pop low in my abdomen, followed by a warm, unmistakable rush of fluid soaking through my leggings.
“Oh,” I breathe, eyes going wide. “Alright.”
I drop back down onto the sofa, heart hammering. It doesn’t hurt, no contractions, no pain, nothing, just a sudden, surreal wetness that tells me something big just changed.
For a second, I sit there frozen, blinking at the floor, before my brain finally catches up. My water broke. My water broke.
I fumble for my phone in the pocket of my coat, hands shaking as I scroll for a name and hit call.
“Hey, Brooke,” Sheera answers on the second ring, cheerful and casual.
“Hi, so, uh…” I take a breath. “I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“What should I do if my water broke… but I don’t feel any contractions?”
There’s a pause. “You’re sure it was your water?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly. “What else would it be?”
She’s quiet for a beat.
“I did not pee myself,” I add, deadpan.
She bursts out laughing. “You will soon enough.”
“Not helpful,” I grumble, which only makes her laugh harder.
“Okay, okay,” she says finally, catching her breath. “It’s fine. It happens more often than you’d think. Just head to the hospital.”
“Now?” I ask, like maybe there’s some version of this where I can finish folding laundry first.
“Yes, now,” she says firmly, still laughing. “You’re having a baby, Brooke.”
“Oh,” I say dumbly. Then louder, “Oh! Right. I’m gonna call Matthew.”
“Keep me in the loop,” she says, and I can practically hear the grin in her voice before the call ends.
I stare at my phone for a second, thumb hovering over Matthew’s name. Then I glance down at my soaked leggings and let out a shaky laugh.
“Okay, baby girl,” I whisper, rubbing the tight curve of my belly. “I guess this is happening.”
The line rings. Once. Twice. Four times. Straight to voicemail.
I hang up and try again.
And again.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, my voice trembling now. “Pick up, Matthew. Come on.”
But he doesn’t. It rings and rings, then goes dead again, and my heart starts to pound faster. I can feel the baby rolling gently inside me, blissfully unaware that her mother is about two seconds from a breakdown.
I swipe over to a different number, one I’ve only called twice in my life and press it before I can talk myself out of it.
“Hi, Mrs. Basen,” she answers on the fifth ring, her voice clipped and efficient as always.
“Hi, Trudy,” I say, too breathless to correct her like I usually do. “Can you get Matthew? He’s not answering his phone and my water broke.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, confused, she says, “Why would he be in my house?”
“What?” My brow furrows before realization hits. “Oh. Right. Of course.” Of course she’s not in the office. It’s Sunday. She’s not sitting at her desk waiting to fetch my husband when his pregnant wife’s water breaks.
“He went to work,” I explain quickly, trying to keep my voice even as panic starts to rise. “And he’s not answering.”
Another long pause. Then, a note of concern creeping into her voice, she says, “Okay. I’ll try to track him down for you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my throat suddenly tight.
I hang up and stare at the phone, willing it to light up with his name.
“Come on, Matthew,” I murmur, pressing a hand to my belly as another slow ripple of movement rolls beneath my palm. “Come on, baby. Don’t make us do this without you.”
Matthew
“So, there’s basically nothing I can do,” I say flatly, the words tasting like defeat as soon as they leave my mouth.
Lenny exhales slowly and nods, glancing over his shoulder like he’s afraid someone might overhear.
“Look… I shouldn’t even be here. But if you sue, they’re going to do everything they can to bury you.
I know most companies settle before it gets that far, but Marx Corp doesn’t.
There’s some mandate from decades ago that says every single claim, legal, civil, whatever has to be investigated.
They use it as a weapon now. They’ll drown you in paperwork, delays, hearings. You’ll be fighting them for years.”
I drag a hand over my face, frustration buzzing under my skin. “And since I also work for Marx United…”
“Yeah,” he finishes grimly. “They’ll come for you, too.”
I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling as if the right move might be written up there somewhere. “If it were you,” I say finally, lowering my voice, “if you were your boss, you know the person handling the case… what would you do?”
“From the company’s point of view?”
I nod.
He hesitates for a second, then says, “I’d file for an extension right away.
Buy time. Then I’d start pulling every complaint, every warning, every note from every flight Brooke’s ever worked.
Hell, I’d include passenger complaints even if they weren’t about her.
Anything to build a case that she and by extension, you, are unreliable.
And if I really wanted to be ruthless…” He lets out a humourless laugh.
“I’d manufacture something if I couldn’t find it. ”
My jaw tightens. “Manufacture it? Why? It’s not like the money would come out of his pocket.”
Lenny looks down at his hands, and for a second, I think he won’t answer. Then, quietly, he says, “There’s a rumour. I don’t know if it’s true, but people talk. Basically, every lawsuit our head gets thrown out before it reaches trial? He gets ten percent of the estimated settlement.”
I blink, stunned. “What the fuck?”
He lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “HR departments are supposed to be neutral. Supposed to mediate. But this one hasn’t been neutral in a long time. It’s gotten worse every year, especially since the CFO retired.”
I frown. “I didn’t even know Kruger retired.”
“Not Marx United’s CFO,” Lenny says, shaking his head. “The parent company. Marx Corp.”
“Maybe I should take my complaint directly to the top,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. “They still have a CEO, right?”
He’s already shaking his head before I finish. “Won’t work. I heard the son, Caden or Connor or something, took over for Leanord Marx. Groomed for the role since birth.”
I throw a hand up, frustration spilling over. “So, an entitled jerk’s getting the job because he’s the boss’s kid. Fantastic.”
Lenny just shrugs; lips pressed in a thin line. “Welcome to corporate America.”
I rake a hand through my hair, my pulse thundering in my ears. “What the fuck am I supposed to do then?”
“I don’t know.” He spreads his hands helplessly. Then, after a pause, adds, “Why are you suddenly asking about all this anyway? Brooke was fired months ago.”
I stare down at the table, shame creeping up my neck. “I messed up,” I admit quietly. “We’re kind of in a hole financially.”
He shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah, well… I guess having a kid’s expensive.”
“It’s not that,” I say quickly. “My insurance covers most of the medical stuff. It’s just…” I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat. “I did something stupid. And if Brooke finds out-”
The light of my phone cuts me off. I glance down, frowning. The screen is lit up, notifications crowding the screen. Seventeen missed calls.
My heart lurches.
I pick up the next call before the second ring. “Hello?”
“Oh, thank God,” my assistant’s voice rushes through the line, shaky with relief. “Where have you been?”
“I-I had a lunch meeting,” I stammer, suddenly cold all over.
“Mrs. Basen’s water broke,” she blurts. “She’s at the hospital.”
For a second, the words don’t compute. Then they slam into me like a freight train. My chair screeches back as I stand. “Shit. Fuck. Okay. I’m coming.”
I hang up so fast I almost drop the phone. Lenny’s already standing too, eyebrows raised.
“I heard,” he says. “Go.”
A stunned, disbelieving smile breaks across my face. “I’m about to have a baby.”
“Congrats, man,” Lenny says, grinning now.
“Thanks!” I yell over my shoulder as I sprint for the door, my pulse racing. “I’m having a baby!”
Holy Fuck.