28. Josephine
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Josephine
Pain wakes me before the sun.
Not the dull pulling ache I’ve spent the last few weeks pretending is normal while my body tackles the biological equivalent of an extreme group project.
This is different.
A deep cramp drags low through my abdomen, snapping my eyes open as my hand flies to my stomach.
I lie perfectly still, listening to my own breathing.
Then another cramp tears through me.
Air leaves my lungs in a hard rush as my body curls inward around the pain before I can stop it.
“Oh shit.”
The words scrape out quietly into the dark room.
Every horrifying medical possibility I’ve ever learned lines up inside my head all at once.
I press both hands over my stomach and force myself to breathe slowly. Panic isn't useful. It isn't clinical, and it has never solved a single problem in the history of medicine.
Unfortunately, panic doesn’t care about my professional opinion.
The pressure returns, cinching tighter through my abdomen.
My eyes sting.
“No,” I whisper.
It sounds ridiculous, sitting alone in the dark arguing with my own uterus.
“No. We are absolutely not doing this today.”
I shove myself upright too fast and instantly regret it. The room tilts sideways. Nausea rolls through me hard enough to bring sweat across the back of my neck.
My phone sits on the nightstand.
I reach for it and smack it straight onto the floor.
“Perfect.”
Of course this would be the moment my coordination gives up and hitchhikes out of Oregon with Clay.
The thought lands before I can stop it.
Clay left without a goodbye, a text, or even that stupid grin. He was just… gone.
Tessa told me after Boone found the note. Her message had been careful, gentle, and full of all the things she didn’t know how to say.
I told her I understood.
At the time, I almost believed it.
Another cramp folds through me.
I lean over the side of the bed, grab my phone, and call Penny before I can convince myself I’m being dramatic.
She answers on the fifth ring with a voice thick from sleep. “If this is about a cow, I need you to know I spiritually clock out before sunrise.”
“Penny.”
That’s all it takes.
Sheets rustle violently. “Josie?”
“I’m having pain.”
She wakes fully in an instant. “What kind?”
“Low cramping. Sharp enough to wake me up.”
“Any bleeding?”
My throat tightens. “I haven’t checked.”
“Go check.”
I hate how calm she sounds, and I love her for it.
I make it to the bathroom with one hand braced against the wall and the other over my stomach. Every step feels careful and fragile, as if my body might crack open if I move wrong.
Please be okay.
I check.
Nothing.
Relief hits so hard my knees almost give out.
“No blood,” I tell her.
“Okay.” Her voice softens slightly. “That’s good. I’m coming over.”
“You really don’t have to—”
“Josephine Wright, if you finish that sentence with anything remotely resembling I’m fine, I will personally drag you into my car wearing whatever shoes I find first.”
Another cramp twists through me.
I grip the counter hard enough for my knuckles to ache.
Penny hears the sharp inhale. “Josie?”
“I’m okay.”
“That sounded fake.”
“It was a little fake.”
“I’m five minutes away. Unlock the door, sit down, and drink water.”
She hangs up before I can respond.
I unlock the apartment door, then lower myself carefully onto the couch with a glass of water I don’t want. Both hands stay pressed protectively over my stomach.
Two babies.
Two tiny heartbeats.
Two lives already rearranging mine from the inside out.
“Please be okay,” I whisper.
The apartment feels painfully quiet until the front door bursts open, hard enough to bounce off the wall.
Penny storms inside wearing leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, and two entirely different shoes.
I stare at her feet. “You're wearing one boot and one sneaker.”
She glances down. “Good range. I can flee danger and kick it.”
A startled laugh escapes me, shaky around the edges.
Her whole expression softens. “Oh, honey.”
“I’m scared.”
The confession slips out before I can polish it into something more manageable.
Penny crosses the room and drops onto the coffee table in front of me, taking both my hands in hers. “I know. But we’re getting you checked out, and until somebody with a medical degree tells us otherwise, we are not spiraling.”
“That sounds suspiciously reasonable.”
“I’m trying a new thing.”
Another cramp drags low through my abdomen. My fingers tighten around hers automatically.
Her jaw hardens, but her tone never wavers. “Hospital. Now.”
“I might be overreacting.”
“Fantastic. Then we’ll overreact somewhere with ultrasound equipment.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in Penny’s car wearing the first clothes she yanked out of my dresser, clutching a water bottle against my stomach.
Penny drives with the confidence of a woman who believes traffic laws are mostly creative suggestions.
“Still no bleeding?” she asks.
“No.”
“We remain huge fans of that.”
“Yes, we do.”
She nods solemnly. “Top tier medical outcome.”
Despite everything, my mouth twitches.
Then another sharp twinge cuts through me and the tiny moment disappears.
Penny reaches over at a red light and squeezes my knee. “Almost there.”
Buckhorn Memorial looks inconsequential, but at five in the morning the fluorescent lights scrape across my nerves.
Penny handles the front desk before I can speak. “She’s pregnant with twins,” she tells the nurse. “She’s having cramping, she’s pretending to be calm, and I need somebody to medically confirm whether I should panic.”
“Penny,” I mutter.
The nurse bites back a smile. “We’ll take good care of her.”
That should reassure me.
Instead, every efficient step sends my imagination somewhere darker.
Soon I’m sitting in a hospital bed beneath a thin blanket while a blood pressure cuff squeezes my arm every few minutes. Penny hovers beside me with the energy of a woman prepared to fight anyone who says let’s wait and see too casually.
The nurse asks questions.
How far along?
Any dizziness?
Any fever?
Any bleeding?
Any unusual stress lately?
Penny snorts before I can answer.
I shoot her a look.
She lifts both hands innocently. “Sorry. That one just felt loaded.”
The doctor arrives a few minutes later, silver streaks threaded through dark hair and calm eyes that make me want to trust her immediately.
She explains that cramping can happen for several reasons during pregnancy, especially with twins, but they’re going to check everything thoroughly.
I nod because nodding is easier than unraveling.
Then they wheel in the ultrasound machine, and my entire body locks up.
Penny reaches for my hand.
Cold gel spreads across my stomach while the screen flickers to life. The blurry shapes refuse to resolve into anything familiar.
Then the doctor smiles. “There they are.”
My breath catches painfully in my chest.
Two tiny forms.
Two tiny flickers.
Two rapid heartbeats filling the room.
Emotion crashes through me so suddenly I can’t contain it. Tears spill sideways into my hair while my hand flies over my mouth.
“They’re okay?” I whisper. “Both of them?”
“Both heartbeats look excellent,” the doctor says gently.
Beside me, Penny lets out a strangled sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Oh thank goodness.”
I close my eyes.
My muscles finally unclench, leaving me shaky all over.
The doctor keeps talking while she checks measurements and monitors the screen. No signs of immediate danger or bleeding. Cervix closed. Labs still pending, but everything looks reassuring.
“This may simply be your body reminding you that carrying twins is demanding work.”
“That feels rude of them,” Penny mutters.
The doctor smiles. “Stress and dehydration can make cramping worse too.”
Penny slowly turns her head toward me.
I study the ceiling with great interest.
Cowardly, maybe. Effective, definitely.
They decide to monitor me for a while longer.
I don’t argue.
At this point, my independence has had a rough morning and frankly deserves to sit down.
Once the doctor leaves, Penny drops back into her chair and drags both hands down her face.
“I’ve aged a decade,” she announces.
“I’m sorry.”
She points at me immediately. “Absolutely not. Your children already owe me emotional damages.”
I blink at her. “Your what?”
“I’m getting ahead of the paperwork, obviously.”
“That feels legally concerning.”
“So does half the parking downtown.”
My phone buzzes on the tray beside the bed.
Both of us look at it.
My heart leaps before I can stop it.
Clay.
It isn't him. Of course it isn't.
Tessa. Penny texted me. Are you okay? Are the babies okay?
I stare at the message while Penny shifts guiltily in her seat.
“I texted her from the waiting room,” she admits. “Don’t be mad.”
The strange thing is, I’m not.
A few months ago, somebody sharing private medical information about me would’ve sent me into a deeply organized spiral.
Now the thought of Tessa worrying about me somewhere outside this room feels unexpectedly comforting.
I type back slowly.
Josie: We’re okay. Both heartbeats are strong. They’re monitoring me for a bit longer.
The typing bubble appears immediately.
Tessa: I’m coming.
Josie: You don’t have to.
Tessa: I know.
Penny leans sideways to read over my shoulder. “She’s coming anyway?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That's good.”
I set the phone down carefully. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Let people take care of me without feeling guilty about it.”
Penny’s expression softens. “That’s because you think support works like a bank loan.”
I would argue, but unfortunately she’s right.
Twenty minutes later, the door opens, and Tessa slips into the room carrying Hailey’s infant seat in one hand and an overstuffed tote bag in the other.
Her eyes land on me instantly. “Oh, thank goodness.”
The relief in her voice breaks me far more effectively than the pain ever did. The fact that she was scared for me.
“I’m okay,” I say quickly. “They’re okay too.”
Tessa moves straight to the bed. “Both heartbeats?”
I nod.
“Strong?”
Another nod.
Her eyes shine instantly. “Good.”
Hailey snuffles softly from her carrier, deeply uninterested in the emotional intensity of the room.
I look down at her tiny sleeping face. “You brought backup.”
Tessa smiles faintly. “She’s my emotional support baby.”
“That's a lot of responsibility for somebody who can't hold her own head up yet.”
“She thrives under responsibility.”
Penny stands with a dramatic groan. “I’m getting coffee before my personality deteriorates further.”
“Penny—”
“You’re stable. The babies are stable. Tessa is here. I’ll be back.”
Then she disappears before I can ask her to stay.
Tessa settles into Penny’s abandoned chair.
“I’m sorry she scared you,” I say softly.
“She scared me terribly.” Tessa exhales shakily. “Her text used the words hospital and emergency in all caps. I nearly drove through a stop sign.”
Despite myself, I smile.
Then the smile fades.
“I really thought I was losing them,” I admit.
Tessa’s face softens immediately. “I know.”
My fingers twist together in the blanket. “And all I could think about was the fact that he doesn’t even know they exist yet.”
Tessa stills. “I know Clay leaving made this harder,” she says carefully.
“I knew he’d leave eventually.” I laugh quietly, but it comes out brittle. “Turns out expecting it doesn’t actually help.”
“No,” Tessa says gently. “It doesn’t.”
The room settles into silence except for the monitor beeping and Hailey's tiny sleep noises.
“I don’t know when to tell him now,” I admit.
Tessa studies our joined hands for a moment before answering. “Clay runs when he’s overwhelmed. Always has.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“No.” A sad little smile crosses her face. “But it’s true.”
I look down at my stomach beneath the blanket.
“I can’t be the reason he comes back,” I whisper.
Tessa answers immediately. “You shouldn’t have to be.”
The certainty in her voice loosens a knot in my chest I didn’t realize I’d been carrying.
Penny returns, balancing terrible coffee, vending machine crackers, and a packet of peanut butter cookies.
“I have foraged,” she announces proudly.
Tessa laughs softly.
Penny hands me the crackers. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re growing two people. Your opinions on hunger are no longer legally binding.”
Tessa opens her tote bag beside the chair. “I brought ginger candies, granola bars, and a blanket because I panicked in my kitchen.”
“That’s very thoughtful.”
“It was either that or a casserole, and I wasn’t emotionally prepared to become somebody’s church aunt overnight.”
Penny points at her approvingly. “See? Excellent instincts.”