Chapter 19 #2
"Because you cheated. That was your choice, and you paid for it."
She's quiet for a moment, something shifting in her expression. "I'm at Columbia now. For my master's in biomedical engineering."
"That's wonderful. Your dad must be proud."
“I am,” Stuart responds. “So proud.”
"Don't. I really don’t want to hear it," she cuts him off. "This new little family situation seems pretty perfect. Young girlfriend, baby on the way. Where do I fit into your life?"
"You're my daughter. That never changes."
The conversation is interrupted when a sharp cramp tears through my abdomen, making me gasp and double over. The pain is sudden, intense, stealing my breath. Three sets of hands reach for me immediately.
"Claire?" Stuart's in full doctor mode instantly, his hands professional but gentle as they go to my stomach. "What's wrong? Describe the pain."
"Sharp," I manage through gritted teeth. "Lower abdomen. Like something's tearing."
"We need to get to the hospital," Stuart says, his face pale. "Now."
"I'll drive," Jonathan's already grabbing keys, his hands shaking slightly.
"I'll call the doctor," Dane has his phone out, his fingers flying over the screen.
"What's happening?" Ella asks, her anger replaced by what actually might be genuine concern. "Is she okay?"
"Possibly Braxton Hicks," Stuart says, helping me to the couch, his voice calm but I can see the fear in his eyes. "False contractions. But we need to be sure."
Another cramp hits, stealing my breath, and I can't help the whimper that escapes. "What’s happening? The baby—"
"The baby's going to be fine," Stuart says firmly, but I hear the uncertainty in his voice. "We're going to the hospital right now."
The next hour is a blur of terror. The emergency room, with its harsh fluorescent lights and antiseptic smell. Tests that seem to take forever. An ultrasound where we all hold our breath until the heartbeat fills the room—strong and steady. The relief is so intense I start sobbing.
The doctor arrives within twenty minutes, calm and professional, examining me thoroughly while three anxious men hover.
"Stress-induced cramping," she confirms, and I see all three guys sag with relief. "The baby's perfectly fine, but you need rest. Real rest. And hydration. You're dehydrated, which can make cramping worse."
"I'll make sure she gets both," Stuart says immediately.
"We all will," Jonathan adds, his hand finding mine.
"Bed rest for at least 48 hours. And try to avoid stress."
Back home, they settle me in the master bedroom like I'm made of fine china. A huge water bottle on the nightstand, a heating pad for my back, pregnancy pillows arranged just so, books within reach, snacks I can actually stomach.
"I'm fine," I insist, though the cramping has left me feeling weak.
"You're on bed rest," Stuart counters in his no-nonsense doctor voice.
"Do you really think it’s necessary? I’ll just be super careful."
"It’s absolutely necessary. We’re going to do exactly as the doctor ordered to make sure this baby is okay," he says as he marches out of the room, mumbling something about vitamins.
I know Stuart’s right and I settle back into the bed after picking up a book on the nightstand. I’ve been meaning to read this for a while. Looks like I have the time now…
That evening, I can hear the men in what will be the nursery, their voices carrying through the walls—Jonathan wanting bright colors to stimulate development, Stuart insisting on calming neutrals for better sleep, Dane suggesting a compromise with a mural that can be both.
I get up to use the bathroom and then make my way down the hall to see what colors they’re considering.
"You should be in bed," Stuart says when he sees me, but his tone is gentle.
"I just got up for a minute to pee and then… I was lonely," I admit. "And watching you all prepare for our baby is..."
"What?" Jonathan asks, pulling me carefully into his arms.
"Everything," I whisper against his chest. "It makes everything real. Permanent. Ours."
"It is real," Dane says, joining us, his hand warm on my back. "All of it."
Stuart comes up behind me, his hands gentle on my shoulders. "How are you feeling? Any more cramping?"
"Better. Seeing you all here, doing this..." I turn in their arms to survey the room. "Our baby is going to be so loved."
"So loved," Jonathan agrees, his hand moving to my stomach. "By all of us."
When Stuart insists we move to the bedroom, I don't argue. They surround me on the bed and Jonathan starts massaging my feet.
"We could have lost—" Stuart starts, then stops, unable to finish the sentence.
"But we didn't," I remind him, pulling him down for a kiss. "We're okay. The baby's okay."
We lay there talking about our hopes and dreams for this child, this family.
"I love you," I tell them. "All of you. This strange, perfect family we're building."
"We love you too," Stuart says, and hearing those words from him, knowing how hard they are for him to say, means everything.
The baby flutters—just barely, a butterfly wing of movement. Four hands immediately reach for my stomach, waiting.
"Soon," I promise them. "Soon you'll feel it too."
And in the darkness, with the future uncertain but our love absolute, I've never been more sure of anything in my life.