Page 52 of Mine to Worship

Kian puts on black pants and shirt. He threads his fingers through his dark hair, and slinks it back, the ends grazing just under his earlobes. He is so sexy.

“You look spectacular,” he says and interlaces our fingers as we leave the house.

Shortly after, we step inside the charming Italian restaurant with its open and large windows, cozy wooden table and chairs. A fireplace rises to the ceiling from the middle of the room, a piano rests in the corner, and tea lite candles flicker on every table. A server greets us and shows us to our table. I haven’t stopped grinning since Kian proposed this date. Going on dates with my husband is even better than before.

“A wine perhaps?” the waitress asks.

“A bottle of sparkling water,” Kian responds.

He winks at me, and when she returns, she asks us, “Have you decided?”

“I’ll take the Margherita pizza,” I say and hand her the menu.

“I’ll have the steak.”

The waitress leaves to put our order in and we’re alone again.

“I like dates,” I say.

He takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles. I am about to say I am ready for him to tell me everything when the server brings the cutlery and the moment escapes us. It’s for the best, it’s too soon anyway. I shake my head and a hint of sadness flashes in his eyes.

The first rays of the sun force my eyes open, and I hold my belly as I rush to the bathroom. I freeze when I see blood on my shorts. My cries are lodged in my throat, but I don’t have to shout for Kian. He is standing in the doorway, rooted on the spot, his face pale and my fear only intensifies.

I dress in a daze while he dials Dr. Lopez. She assures him she’ll be there when we get to the clinic. The ride is a blur with my eyes swimming in tears. The silence between us only worsens the fear in my heart.

He grabs my hand, his trembling indicating he’s going through the same anguish. He doesn’t let go and with clammy hands we trudge inside the private clinic.

What if the baby is gone? A new wave of pain hits me, much stronger than the physical one. The thought alone tears me up. As promised, Dr. Lopez is waiting for us. A nurse helps me into a wheelchair and takes me to a private room. White walls and the scent of disinfectant surround me as fear paralyzes me. Kian holds my hand, his warmth comforting me.

I tell the doctor I experienced some bleeding, and her professional mask doesn’t falter.

“It happens. Let’s take a look,” she says, her voice reassuring.

I lie on the examination bed with Kian holding my hand, his thumb caressing the inside of my palm. “Please tell me my baby is fine,” I beg.

My heart halts in my chest.

“Breathe, angel. Please.”

I shake my head, and a shuddering breath rolls out of my mouth when a steady heartbeat echoes in the silent room. I cover my face, the relief so potent, tears fall down my cheeks.

“The baby is fine.”

The doctor’s words get my heartbeats to normalize. Kian drops down on the chair next to me, color returning to his face.

She shows us our little baby and Kian’s eyes go round in awe. After staring at our wonder several long minutes, Dr. Lopez clears her throat and says, “I would like you to stay here a few hours so I can monitor you. I’d also like to run more tests.”

Once she leaves, I turn to Kian fully.

“I was so scared,” I say, and his hand envelops mine.

“You are fine, and the baby is fine.” He repeats that a few times, his eyes scanning the monitor then me in an endless loop. I get the impression it’s more to reassure himself.

“Yes, we are,” I assert.

Dr. Lopez comes back twenty minutes later and my nerves return in full force.

“The baby is all right, and your blood analysis is fine. The fetus is developing wonderfully, and it looks like it will be a viable pregnancy. The pain and the nausea should ease up a bit, but the hyperemesis gravidarum will make it a difficult pregnancy. It’s imperative that you rest, and eat small, frequent meals. Avoid any foods and smells that trigger your nausea.”

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