Page 85 of Mortify

I watch from the window as they gear up—bulletproof vests, weapons, all of them sporting grim faces.

My hand drifts to my stomach, to the tiny life that started all this.

"Your daddy's going to come back," I whisper, meaning Regnor. "He has to."

The sound of engines fills the air, then fades as they ride away.

Leaving us to wait.

To worry.

To pray to whoever's listening that they all come home.

The hours crawl by.

I help make dinner, but can barely eat.

Help put kids to bed, but can't imagine sleeping.

Every sound makes me jump.

Every car engine could be them returning.

Or it could be bad news.

The women gather in the common room, pretending to watch TV while really just waiting.

This is the hardest part of being an ol’ lady—the not knowing.

"First time is always the worst," Starla says, appearing beside me on the couch. "The waiting."

"Does it get easier?"

"No," she admits. "You just get better at hiding the fear."

"Helpful," I mutter, and she laughs.

"Honesty usually is." She studies me. "Regnor's tough. One of the toughest. He'll come back."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because now he has something to come back to." She pats my knee. "Makes a man fight harder when he's got family waiting."

Family.

Is that what we are already?

But I guess it is.

It's nearly midnight when the first cramp hits.

Sharp and low, different from the usual discomfort I have.

I ignore it, chalking it up to stress.

But then another comes, stronger.

"You okay?" Vail asks, noticing my wince.

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