Page 97 of Beyond Oblivion

“Trent,” he began. “I never thought this… I never wanted to…”

“Save it. Make the calls. I’m going back to my wife.”

Thomas nodded, and I turned, pulling out my phone as I headed toward the double doors to call Hazel with an update. Her voice came through and then she listened quietly—no jokes, no attempts at humor. For the first time, I felt understood by someone more than my own family. There was a strange, hollow ache to it—a reminder of the distance that had crept up between me and my brothers, slipping in so quietly that I hadn’t noticed until now.

As important as Hazel was to me, I’d always been able to lean on my brothers, to confide in them, sometimes without even saying a word, but now, talking to Hazel felt easier. That hurt in a way I hadn’t expected, a quiet loss I couldn’t quite put into words.

The minutes stretched thin after I hung up, each one feeling heavier than the last as I paced in the small room, hands stuffed into my pockets, eyes darting to the machines beside Camille’s bed every few seconds.

Finally, the door creaked open, and a woman in a white coat walked in, flashing a warm smile. “You’ve got quite the fan club in the lobby,” she said with a small grin.

Camille’s eyelids fluttered, blinking against the harsh light as she looked around, taking in her surroundings like she was only just realizing where she was—and why.

“Hi Camille,” she said. “I’m Dr. Levi.”

Camille’s fingers tightened around mine as she looked at the doctor, the question already in her eyes. “The baby…”

Dr. Levi placed a reassuring hand on Camille’s foot over the blanket. “Baby is okay,” she said gently. “I know this was terrifying, but we have some good news. I’ve looked through all the results, and from what I’m seeing, this is what we call a ‘threatened miscarriage.’ That term can sound frightening, but it simply means there was unexplained bleeding. No miscarriage has occurred, and it’s actually more common than most people realize. Many pregnancies continue on without any further issues.”

Camille didn’t seem satisfied. “Does this mean it could happen again?”

Dr. Levi offered a thoughtful nod. “Not necessarily. In fact, most cases like this go on to be completely healthy pregnancies. But just to be safe, I’m recommending more rest and less stress. Avoid heavy lifting or any strenuous activity. Listen to your body. If you notice any cramping or further bleeding, come back in right away, and we’ll make sure everything’s progressing smoothly.”

Camille’s shoulders relaxed, her grip on my hand softening. Dr. Levi’s words managed to break through the fear we’d been trying so hard to push aside, giving me a sliver of hope I’d desperately needed—that I wouldn’t be walking out of that room grieving the loss of our child along with the trust I’d once had in my brothers.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Camille

The headlights dipped into our familiar driveway, relief washing over me as the truck finally came to a stop. Trenton stepped out, rounding the hood without a word until he opened the passenger door, reaching beneath me.

“All right, my love, let’s get you and our little strawberry-sized mischief-maker all cozy and crash-proof in bed, safe and sound,” he said, pausing when I stopped him.

I didn’t want to be carried inside like a bird with a broken wing, but even the idea of standing on my own two feet made the edges of my vision blur. Before I had time to argue, he scooped me into his arms and carried me toward the front door.

“I’m not made of glass,” I whispered, the words barely slipping past my lips. As much as I appreciated his care, his hands soft and steady around me, a small part of me bristled against it. I was tired, yes—exhausted, actually—but needing help meant something was wrong, and my mind needed to fight those thoughts. Trenton’s every tender touch, every worried glance reminded me just how fragile our situation was.

He smirked. “This is my chance to carry you across the threshold sober. Don’t ruin my moment.”

I let myself melt into him as he carried me inside, across the living room, and down the hall to our bedroom. He laid me down on the bed with a tenderness only a woman who’d been loved by a Maddox boy would believe, the mattress dipping slightly when he sat next to me.

“Rest, babe,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss my forehead. His hands gently tucked the comforter around my every edge.

“You were brave today,” I said.

He scoffed, shook his head, and let it hang in shame. “I was terrified. And ashamed. Pretty sure my ass decorated my skivvies.”

“Ashamed? What on earth would you have to be ashamed of?”

He waited several beats before he spoke, opening his mouth, pausing to gather himself, then trying again. “Losing my temper, stressing you out, and then at the hospital…”

He held his breath, tears threatening to roll.

I reached for his forearm. “What?”

“I realized that I might lose you both and… don’t hate me… but…” He growled, looked up, and wiped his eyes before taking a breath and trying again. “I can’t lose you, and I questioned—for a millisecond—if a baby was worth the risk. Now that you’re both okay, I just feel like a piece of shit for thinking it.”

“You’re not,” I reassured softly. “You think you’re the first husband who’s ever felt that way?”

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