Chapter 42
~Elle~
Five months later.
Whoever said morning sickness only happens in the morning lied—it’s anytime sickness. I bet it was a man who named it.
I rinse the bitter taste from my mouth, gripping the sink as I stare at a face I barely recognize. Constant nausea has hollowed me out, every meal a battle to keep down. My reflection looks haggard, worn thin by weeks of hyperemesis, though lately the symptoms have eased—just a little.
Still, I rally on. There’s no space for grief, no time for Dominic. In four months, when the baby comes, I’ll need savings to carry me through until I can work again. Childcare will be sorted by then. I have to keep going—for both of us.
I managed to push and complete my residency.
It wasn’t easy at all. But preparing to raise a child on one’s own is enough motivation.
The other members of staff have been supportive.
I know that they have questions about my child's father, but they’ve been polite enough not to ask.
So far everyone has accepted the only disclosure I’ve made on the topic. Which is ‘we're separated’.
Finishing residency wasn’t easy, but the thought of raising a child on my own gave me strength. The staff have been supportive, even if I know they wonder about the father. They’ve respected the only disclosure I’ve offered: “we’re separated.”
I splash cool water on my face, rinsing away the bitterness clinging to me, then pat dry with paper towels from the lounge dispenser.
Leaving the bathroom, I head to the surgical ward to check on my post-op patients before my shift ends.
By midnight, I’m finally done. The elevator doors slide open to the ground floor, and Sam is already waiting.
“You’re ready to go, Elle, darling?” he chirps, his sing-song voice lifting my mood as it so often does. “Yep.”
We step into the chilly December night, hand in hand. He knows I hate walking alone to my apartment, just a few blocks from the hospital. Sam, ever thoughtful, swaps into the night shift whenever I’m rostered, making sure I never face the darkness alone
A few months ago, I began working at Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. I still remember my first night shift. Stepping onto the sidewalk, I froze—memories of the attack months earlier surged back, threatening to consume me.
Sam found me there, staring into the darkness, on the brink of a full-blown panic attack.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, startling me into a scream.
He immediately backed up, hands raised. “It’s okay—sorry to startle you.
” Recognizing him as one of the Operating Theatre nurses, I forced myself to calm down.
That night, he walked me home. By chance, we lived in the same apartment building and from then on, he’s accompanied me after every night shift. Sam is the only one who knows the truth—about my trauma, about leaving my husband. He’s easy to trust, easy to confide in.
“Tomorrow we both have a day off—what do you say we go shopping, girl?” Sam’s question pulls me from thoughts of Dominic.
We’re only a block from our apartment, our forearms linked.
I glance up at his hopeful expression and smile.
His blonde hair falls across his face, boyishly handsome—so unlike Dominic’s mature, dangerous allure.
Fashion is Sam’s passion, so shopping excites him.
“Sure,” I reply. “I need to pick up more things for the baby.”
His smile fades into a frown as he studies me. “Were you able to keep anything down today, Elle darling?” He pats my arm gently. “I managed earlier, but dinner didn’t stay,” I admit as we step into the lobby. “Well, at least that’s an improvement,” he says while we wait for the elevator.
“I don’t think my heart can take seeing you collapse again.
” His usual cheer is gone, replaced by quiet worry.
“Don’t worry,” I say, trying to sound confident.
“It’s gotten better since then. I think the end is in sight now that I’m in my second trimester.
” The words are meant for him, but really, I’m trying to convince myself.
Logically, I know most women get relief by now.
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll leave by eleven and have lunch while we’re out, what do you say?
” He asks after getting off onto my floor.
“Yeah, it sounds good. See you then.” I respond while I open the door to my apartment.
Sam kisses my cheek before making his way further down the corridor to his apartment on the same floor.
Just after midnight, my stomach growls as I drop my bag on the table and head into the kitchen.
The smell of chicken soup fills the air, making my mouth water while it warms. I press my palms against my abdomen as my precious baby begins a playful boxing match inside me. The movement makes me smile.
It all became real the first time I felt that flicker at eighteen weeks—a rush of emotion that left me longing to share it with Dominic.
The little bugger must be smelling the food too.
Always most active when I’m about to eat, and mischievously restless when it’s time to sleep. I can’t wait to meet my child.
During the anomaly scan, my obstetrician asked if I wanted to know the gender. As tempting as it was, I chose for it to be a surprise. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. I already love this baby more than I ever thought possible
“Your father may not have loved me, but you were created in love. My love was enough for both of us.” I cling to that truth, grateful to carry a part of the man I love. I slurp the soup hungrily, the baby’s movements slowing as my stomach fills.
Even though I’m exhausted, I dread bedtime.
The nights are the worst—when silence presses in and loneliness suffocates me.
Without the distraction of work, Dominic’s memory floods my thoughts.
I miss him with every breath. More than anything, I wish I could share with him the joy and anticipation of preparing for our child.