Chapter 3
Georgia
Grayson’s foot taps a steady rhythm against the floor, and I have to slap my hand across his knee to stop it.
“You’re making me nervous,” I snap.
“Sorry,” he whispers, the corners of his mouth tipping up in a sheepish grin.
I drag my hand up to his, intertwining our fingers as I take a breath deep enough to burn my lungs.
“Whatever happens, we will be okay,” I say, squeezing his leg.
My voice is steady this time, but inside, I’m being shredded apart.
This morning, I woke up to some spotting, and when I saw it, I couldn’t stop the panic that took over. Grayson woke up to me sobbing on the bathroom floor.
He didn’t ask any questions—just laid down on the floor beside me and held me while I cried. And when I could finally breathe again, he wiped my tears as I explained what had happened.
Everything after that was like a blur. He called the doctor, getting my appointment for later this week moved up to today. Then he brushed my hair, picked out my clothes, and led me to the car, all while I dissociated.
By the time we got to the doctor’s office, I was numb, and I remained that way as we checked in.
After going through Nate’s cancer journey, I tend to always prepare myself for the worst. I hate that I do it, but I don’t know any other way.
Therapy helps, but it never entirely takes the panic away.
Grayson’s thumb strokes against the back of my hand, and he leans over, pressing a kiss against my hair. “Yeah, Peach. We’ll be okay.”
“Georgia—” A nurse with a clipboard calls my name, and Grayson and I stand, never letting go of each other.
“That’s me,” I say as we draw closer.
The nurse offers me a kind smile. “My name’s Maddie. I’ll be your nurse today. Can you tell me your last name and birthday?
“Sure. Montgomery, and March 17th.”
“Great. If you could just follow me.”
We follow her down a long hallway, its walls filled with baby pictures, and I avert my eyes to the ceiling as we walk.
A pain stabs my chest, right under my ribs.
Please, God. Please let this baby be okay.
The prayer is wooden, whispered from the mouth of a woman who begged for him to save someone I loved from dying before.
In my heart, I know that whatever happens, it’s not his fault, but right now, a storm of anger is brewing in my stomach.
Maddie leads us to the exam room at the end of the hallway and then closes the door behind us.
“Georgia, if you could, take a seat on the table, please. Your husband can sit on the chair beside it.”
Nodding, I let go of Grayson’s hand, my whole body trembling from the loss of his strength.
I climb onto the table, and Maddie opens her computer screen.
“I’m going to ask you a few questions, and then Dr. Madoc will be right in, okay?”
I can’t force words past my lips, so I just nod once again.
“Great. Do you know about how many weeks you are? Just an estimate will be fine. We will do an ultrasound here in a bit to confirm.”
“Twelve weeks.” The words come out as a croak, and I have to clear my throat before trying again. “Twelve weeks. Maybe a little more.”
She smiles, and in moments like this, I am always grateful for the kindness of the nurses and doctors who see the heartbreak of their patients. It has to wear on them, yet so many offer comfort—at least in my experience.
“Great, and can you explain what brought you in today? I know your regular appointment was supposed to be in a couple of days, so can you just tell me what’s been going on?”
I open my mouth to explain, but all the air has been sucked out of the room.
My chest heaves up and down, proving that I am getting air, but it doesn’t feel like it.
Reaching up, I lay one hand against my chest, rubbing circles against it, and then I start to count.
Five things I can see: The tattoos up Grayson’s arms, especially my favorite one—the orchid just above his wrist. There’s a picture of a happy family holding their baby in their arms, which is probably not the best one to catalog in my five, considering the situation, but it’s what I’ve got.
The nurse’s scrubs are blue, making me hope that, if this baby is okay, it’s a boy so he can be just like his daddy.
Then there’s the screen that will soon give me my answers—whether I like them or not.
And finally, the ceiling as I stare up at it, trying not to cry.
My lungs are still frozen, though. I have to keep going on to the next.
Four things I can feel: Grayson’s rough calluses as he takes over, rubbing my chest in soothing circles.
The crinkle of the paper underneath my hands as I grip the edges of the table, and the cushioned table pressing into my back in all the right places to relieve the ache I’ve been experiencing for weeks.
One more thing. I just need one more. I force myself to concentrate, and then I feel it.
Nurse Maddie squeezes my hand, offering me the only comfort she can.
Three things I can hear: My breath as I draw it into my lungs–still erratic, but maybe a little less so. Grayson murmurs my name as he rubs my chest, and my heart pounds in my head.
Two things I can smell: There’s a strong antiseptic smell lingering in the air from all the times this room has been cleaned between patients.
I inhale, searching for one more smell to calm me down, and at the same time, Grayson leans in like he knows what I’m doing.
The smell of his aftershave fills the air between us, working to calm my nerves.
One thing I can taste: Fear. I can taste my own fear as if it were a palpable entity.
When the room comes back into focus, I find the nurse staring back at me, concern written on her face. “Do you have panic attacks often?”
Grayson beats me to the answer. “Only when she’s stressed. Sometimes, she needs a minute afterward. I can answer your questions for now, and when she’s ready, Georgia can jump back in. Okay?” He looks at me, confirming that it’s okay for him to step in, and I nod, giving him permission.
My husband is not the kind of guy to sit idly by. He has more of a take-charge personality, but one thing I love about him is that he always makes sure that he’s not running over my boundaries.
The nurse clears her throat and turns to him, hesitant to ask her question. “Alright. Can you tell me what happened to bring you guys in today?”
My body stiffens, but Grayson’s hand continues making circles against my skin. I grab onto that as a focus point.
“This morning, after she woke up, she found that she’d been spotting throughout the night.”
Fingers peck against the keyboard, and I remind myself to breathe.
“Any cramping?”
Grayson looks at me, an apologetic look on his face for not knowing the answer, but all I can offer her is a nod of my head.
Again, she enters the information into the computer, and I wonder if I will end up hyperventilating again.
Powering the laptop down, she walks across the small room and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. Tears brim in my eyes, and I will them away.
With a squeeze of my shoulder, she says, “I’ll send Doctor Madoc in. She will bring an ultrasound machine with her and do it right here in the room. I’ll be praying that you get good results.”
“Thank you.” It’s hardly more than a whisper, but she pats my shoulder, acknowledging the words I had forced out. Without saying anything else, she walks out the door, closing it softly behind her.
We only have to wait a few minutes before the doctor comes in, dragging a machine behind her.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Madoc. You must be Georgia—and Grayson,” she says, looking down at the chart in front of her.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Grayson says, stretching out his hand to shake hers.
She takes it, offering a firm shake before doing the same with me.
“I understand you’ve experienced some bleeding. Before we begin, I want you to know that it can be normal at this stage, but we’ll check things out and see, okay?”
“Okay.” It comes out broken in a way that’s different than when Nate died.
Grayson grabs my hand, holding on to it as I lay back on the table and lift my shirt. The gel is cold against my skin as Dr. Madoc squeezes it on and then places the wand against my abdomen.
She’s quiet for five of the longest seconds of my life, and then I hear the most glorious sound I have ever heard.
A heartbeat.
Dr. Madoc smiles, and when I turn my head to look at Grayson, he has silent tears streaming down his face.
“That’s our baby, Peach.”
My tears match his, hot against my cheek. “Yeah, Gray, it is.”
______________________
“Grayson Eugene Lewis, I’m pregnant—not broken.”
His warm laughter seeps into my chest as he carries me down the steps. Since our twelve-week appointment a couple of days ago, he’s been more protective than usual, hardly letting me lift a finger.
“I know,” he says, kissing my temple, “I just want to take care of my wife. You’re doing the hard part by growing our baby. Let me take some of the burden off you.”
I lift a brow. “Walking is a burden?”
Grayson’s lips flatten, popping a brow to match mine. “Yes.”
His tone is so serious that, for a moment, I think he’s completely lost his mind, but the muscle in his jaw jumps, giving away how hard he’s fighting to hold back a smile.
Smacking my hand against his chest, I say, “You’re a nuisance. Do you know that?”
He smiles down at me, making my heart flutter. “I know.”
With a sigh, I give up fighting him, laying my head against his chest and letting him carry me down the stairs. When we reach the bottom, he sets me on my feet and kisses my lips.
“See? It wasn’t so hard to let me do something for you, was it?”
“Just took twice as long, and our families will be here any minute,” I grumble.
Pulling on my ear, he scowls down at me. “I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy or if I’m rubbing off on you, but you’re kind of grumpy.”
I gasp at the audacity of those words.
Doesn’t he know you aren’t supposed to antagonize a pregnant lady?