Page 95 of Pregnant in Plaid
He probably hates me now.
Even if he doesn't, even if he could forgive me, howdo I come back from that? The words I'd need to say—I'm sorry, I was wrong, I love you—feel impossible. Like trying to speak after swallowing glass.
Leaving is the right choice. The only choice. Back to Florida, have the baby, figure out some kind of custody arrangement. People do it all the time.
The lie tastes bitter.
I carefully fold the onesie and tuck it back into my suitcase. Tomorrow, I'll get on a plane. I'll go home. I'll move on.
Tonight, I'll just lie here and try not to think about what I'm leaving behind.
The contraction wakes me from a fitful sleep.
For a moment, I'm disoriented—this isn't Trace's bed, isn't his cabin—and then I remember. Tessa's cabin. The fight. The plan to leave in the morning.
The contraction tightens like a fist around my middle, and I bite my lip to keep from making noise. The clock on the nightstand reads 1:47 AM.
Just Braxton Hicks. Has to be. It’s too early for labor.
But this one feels different. Stronger. More focused.
I wait for it to pass, breathing slowly, then carefully slide out of bed. Tessa doesn't stir. I grab my phone and tiptoe out of the bedroom, not wanting to wake her.
The contractions have been coming and going all evening, but I thought they'd stopped. Apparently not.
Another one hits as I'm crossing the living room, and I have to grip the back of the couch to stay upright. Gage is sprawled across it, dead to the world, one arm hanging off the side.
I breathe through the contraction, counting in my head. Thirty seconds. Forty-five. A full minute before it releases.
That's not normal.
I make my way to the bathroom and close the door quietly behind me. The last thing I need is to wake everyone up over false labor. I'll just—I'll wait it out. Splash some water on my face. Calm down.
I turn on the tap and run cold water over my wrists, an old anxiety trick my mom taught me. The shock of cold always helped.
Another contraction builds, and this one makes me grab the counter. It's stronger. Sharper. There's pressure low in my pelvis that wasn't there before.
"Okay," I whisper to my reflection. "This is fine. Everything is fine."
And then I feel it.
The gush of fluid that soaks through my pajamas and pools on the bathroom floor.
My water just broke.
"No," I breathe. "No, no, no. It's too early. Thiscan't be?—"
Another contraction hits, harder than all the others, and I can't hold back the cry of pain.
"Tessa!" My voice comes out as a shriek. "Tessa!"
Within seconds, the bathroom door bursts open. Tessa appears, wild-eyed and confused, with Gage right behind her.
"What's wrong?" Tessa asks, then sees the floor. "Oh my God. Is that?—"
"My water broke." I'm shaking, tears streaming down my face. "It's too early. The baby's not supposed to come for six more weeks. I did this. The fight with Trace, the stress, I did this?—"
"Stop." Gage is suddenly all business, stepping past Tessa. "Can you walk?"
