Chapter 10 #2
Marlowe shakes her head. “No, B. You’re fine. I asked my doctor the same question when I learned I was pregnant and she said it’s a very common concern for expecting mothers. The risk to the baby is low before you learn about the pregnancy.”
I let out a relieved exhale.
Marlowe smiles. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom, B.”
I snort, and my fear-turned-relief morphs into laughter. I laugh so fucking hard, I cry. Shocker. “I don’t know the first thing about babies. Or being a mom.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Marlowe says, still grinning at me. “You love big. And that’s really the thing a baby needs most.”
Is it? Was my love not enough last time?
I swallow the growing lump in my throat and offer a watery smile, asking about Antonio. We talk for a few more minutes before I end the call.
“Okay,” I tell myself, wincing at how pathetic I sound. Then, I gather up my belongings, pick up my decaf coffee cup, and head for the door.
On my way out, I stick my tongue out at the judgey guy. He flips me off and that makes me smile.
“Psycho,” he mutters.
Turning, I growl at him and he rears back, his eyes widening in fear.
I laugh and sob the entire walk home to my apartment.
For the next ten days, I throw myself into work with an intensity that borders on reckless. With Marlowe’s permission to withhold my pregnancy from Niko for fourteen days, I essentially pretend that I’m not pregnant.
I need to pretend right now. I exist in a state that is half remembering and half unknown. Will I lose this baby? Can I have this baby? Do I deserve this second chance? And…how the hell am I going to manage everything on my own? Again?
I search out things that make me feel like I’m still in control of my life. I’m the first one in the office, despite the clinging exhaustion, and the last one to leave, even when I feel like I might collapse. I take every extra meeting, attend every photoshoot, and power through. Like I always do.
Sure, I make sure I’m conscious of the important things. I take my prenatal vitamin every morning, severely limit my caffeine intake, and pull back on my morning runs. But I don’t upend my life by enrolling in prenatal yoga.
I just…go to work. I juggle all the things like usual. And a level of calmness coats my days. I can do this. I am doing this.
Everything is fine.
Until it isn’t.
It’s at a photoshoot in Tribeca when my world literally tilts on its axis. One moment, I’m talking to Chris about focusing more on movement, on anchoring the shoot in luxury in motion, and the next, I’m going down.
Chris’s arms jut out and he catches me as I collapse.
I don’t completely pass out. I’m still conscious enough to hear the panic in Chris’s voice as he calls for help.
I’m cognizant enough to note how unbelievably cold I feel and how fast my heart is racing.
My chest squeezes painfully and my head throbs.
My vision narrows, the vibrant colors of the rooftop morph into shadows, and then, darkness. My eyes flutter shut.
When I wake in the hospital, a stern-looking doctor stands at the foot of my bed.
“Is the baby okay?” I croak, my hand flying to my abdomen. Fear spikes through my limbs and those memories from long ago claw at my mind. The time I woke up with no baby in my belly. Alone and scared and empty.
I pull in a lungful of air. Shaking the past from my mind, I focus on the present.
I recall passing out at the photoshoot and the selfishness of my actions crash down.
I forgot to eat breakfast this morning. I was running late and even though I felt off, I leaned into routine and consistency over health and wellness.
“You’re severely dehydrated. Exhausted. And, as you know, pregnant,” the doctor replies, his tone clipped.
Sighing, I rest my head back against the pillow and nod.
“You’re also bleeding,” he shares.
My eyes fly open.
“It’s a subchorionic hematoma,” he continues. “At this point, harmless. But, obviously, quite the scare.”
“Does my work—”
“They don’t know.” He puts my mind at ease.
I sigh and grip the hem of the bedsheet.
“Now what?” I whisper.
The doctor stares at me for a long moment.
“Now, you rest. You find a support system, whatever that looks like for you. And you recover. It’s not just about you anymore, Ms. DiBlanco.
It’s about you and your baby. Your baby is going to take all the good nutrients from whatever you’re putting into your body.
That means well-balanced meals and water. ”
Guilt wraps around me, squeezing tight enough to constrict my throat.
“Can I fly?”
“Fly?” His eyebrows lift.
“Yes. If I take time off work, can I fly home?”
“Where’s home?”
I think about my brother. Home is where Luca and Carla are. “Valencia. Spain.”
He glances down at my chart before nodding. “Yes. If you take some real time off work, I think being with family is the right move. You need rest. Calmness. Stability.”
“So, basically, the opposite of my life in New York.”
He offers a small smile. “Basically.”
“Alright,” I agree. “Fine.”
The doctor leaves to let me rest, saying he’ll be back in a few hours to discharge me.
Then, I call Chris, who is worried out of his mind.
I reassure him that I’m okay and thank him profusely for catching me before I hit the ground.
Then, being as vague as possible without causing Chris alarm, I ask for a leave of absence from work.
Once it’s granted, I dial the next number.
Marlowe García.
And by the time I’m discharged from the hospital and back in my apartment, I have a flight booked home for the following evening, my brother and Carla are making up their spare bedroom, and I’m taking my pregnant ass home.