Page 175 of Unspoken Words
“Our favourite movie on our wedding night,” he said, resting his head against mine. “Does it get any better than this?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Because it didn’t.
*
The clangof the breakfastcart woke me the next morning, and I opened my eyes to find Connor opening his, his arms and legs outstretched before he stood from the sofa chair beside my bed. He was still clothed in his suit pants and shirt.
Glancing down, I noticed I was in my nightie, makeup removed, hair no longer covered in hairpins.
I yawned and sat up. “What? How?”
The last thing I remembered was Jenny and Forrest reuniting at his mother’s house. I remembered smiling because that was when their miracle little boy was conceived, and after Jenny died, that little boy would be the part of her that Forrest could forever keep.
“How did I get in my nightie? I don’t remember changing.”
“That’s because you were asleep.”
“You dressed me?”
“Of course.” Connor stretched again, and I could see the discomfort in his face.
“You got hardly any sleep, didn’t you?” I reached my hand out to him. “Go home. Get some rest.”
“Don’t be silly,” he said, taking my hand in his. “I wasn’t leaving my wife on our wedding night.”
“It’s not our wedding night anymore, so go home and get some rest.” I rubbed my other hand over my belly. “We’ll be fine.” And as if on cue, my stomach made a god-awful rumble. “Right after I’ve fed us, we will.”
Connor pushed my food table closer to the bed and lifted the plastic cloche, revealing soggy bacon, shrivelled mushrooms, and a splotch of scrambled eggs that looked as appetising as a dish sponge.
I shuddered. “Yummy!”
“Do you want me to bring you back some hotcakes from McDonald’s?”
“And a hash brown.” I prodded the mushrooms with my fork. “Make that two.”
“No hash browns,” Dr Webb said, as he entered the room.
I grumbled. “Spoilsport.”
“Hearts don’t like hash browns, Ellie.”
“But stomachs do. And so do unborn babies with impressive roundhouse kicks.”
He raised his don’t-argue-with-the-professional eyebrow, so I gave in.
“How are you feeling today?” He checked over my chart.
“Exhausted, but okay.”
“Well, after yesterday’s excitement, that’s to be expected.” Dr Webb marked something down on my chart and then placed it on the bed. “Your BP was low last night. I’d like to take it again now that you’re awake and haven’t yet eaten.”
I stuck out my arm, my expression stoic.
“Has Dr Goodman been in to see you yet?”
“No. Why?”
