Page 56 of His Bittersweet Regret

I glanced around and didn’t see anything special. Thinking she meant her purse, I brought it over to her. She huffed, but didn’t say anything for a solid two minutes. “In the little closet next to the front door. I have a bag packed for me and a diaper bag for Austin. Please, grab them. We need to go.”

“Go where?”

The heated glare she sent my way froze me in place. Then, before either of us could say another word, the floor beneath Opal’s feet started forming a puddle. I cocked my head to the side as Opal glanced down in horror.

“Oh my God! Get the damn bags, I’m in labor you idiot!” She yelled at me.

“Shit!” I rushed to get the bags and then came back to help her waddle-walk out of the house. “I’m so sorry, but getting you in the truck probably isn’t going to feel great.”

“Don’t care,” she huffed through clenched teeth. “Just get me to the hospital and we’ll call it good.”

“Wish you were talking about everything when you say that,” I muttered as I helped her into my truck.

“You probably should have gotten a towel. I think I’m still leaking,” she moaned.

“Don’t worry about the truck. As long as we get you to the hospital in time, that’s all that matters.”

23

Opal

“Breathe through the contractions,” Marsh coached as he drove us across town to the hospital.

“I’m trying,” I groaned.

“Come on, breathe with me. In through your nose.” He paused as I did so. “Now, out through your mouth in slow increments.” When I eased my hold on his hand, he smiled. “Better?”

“For now,” I agreed, and for some reason, I didn’t let go of his hand. Marsh and I might not have been in a good place, but the strength he offered was desperately needed. I was afraid of going into labor, had been for months now. What if something happened to me? I knew Marsh and his family would take good care of my son, but it hurt my heart to think that he might not have his mother to guide him as he grew up.

The other possibility just wasn’t something I cared to imagine. If my baby didn’t make it, they might as well let me go too. I knew plenty of people were able to cope with the loss of a child, stillbirths, and whatnot. Eventually, anyway. I didn’t think I’d be able to get over the loss of my child with Marsh though because there would never be another one.

“Stop worrying, you’re going to be just fine,” Marsh said as he squeezed my hand. “Both of you will be.”

It seemed he still knew me well enough to know what was going through my mind. “If anything happens to me,” I began to say when Marsh squeezed down on my hand even tighter. A contraction took my breath before I could say more.

“Breathe,” he reminded me. I followed along with him, wondering when he had learned the breathing exercises they taught in Lamaze classes. “That’s it. If you stay calm, you can work through the pain of the contractions a little easier. And stop trying to plan for an eventuality in which you are no longer here to care for our son. That shit isn’t happening.”

“You.” Quick breath out. “Don’t.” Another quick breath out. “Get.” I tried to breathe in, but it hurt like a mother… A whip-like pain lashed out at me, spreading from my back to my front, fast as a wildfire on a windy day. “Ouch!” I cried.

“No, I don’t get the ‘ouch’ part,” Marsh agreed with a chuckle while trying to bring some levity to the situation.

“Shut. Up.” Those two words were a growl as the contraction finally eased back a little.

“They’re about 5 minutes apart now,” he insisted.

“You’ve been timing them?”

“Of course, I have.”

I didn’t know what to do with that information. I hadn’t even been able to wrap my head around the fact that I was about to give birth, beyond dealing with the contractions and sitting uncomfortably in my soaked pajamas.

“You know you can’t dictate how everything plays out,” I quickly stated, trying to finish my thought from earlier. “Even I don’t get a say in whether something goes wrong or not.”

“You’re a fighter, Opal. You managed to get through the things I put you through – the things I didn’t even understand I was doing to you. You can do this. You’re going to show our son what it means to be tough, loyal, and loved.”

Loyalty. That was something Marsh wouldn’t be able to show him. Not if he was supposed to lead by example. The bitter thought took me right into another contraction.

“Think,” breathe, “coming,” breathe, “quicker.” I huffed out an exhausted sigh and relaxed for a minute as the last contraction passed and we pulled into the hospital parking lot. Luckily, they had what the hospital called ‘stork spots’ so that when someone pulled in, the staff would send a nurse out immediately with a wheelchair to help the woman directly into labor and delivery.

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