Chapter 2 - THIRTY-FOUR WEEKS
My pregnancy had been uncomplicated until Week Thirty-Two.
Then I began having contractions.
Not labor.
Irritable uterus.
That was the phrase one doctor used.
I disliked it.
Sounded like my uterus had opinions about customer service.
They monitored me.
Cervix unchanged.
Fetal fibronectin? No need to overcomplicate. They hydrated me, observed, sent me home with clear instructions.
Call for:
Bleeding.
Fluid leakage.
Regular painful contractions.
Reduced movement.
Persistent severe pain.
I knew the list.
Ethan knew it too.
He sat beside me at the hospital that night holding my shoes.
On the drive home he said:
“We should skip Mom’s wedding.”
“No.”
“Bella.”
“She’ll murder me.”
He laughed.
I did too.
That sentence would become ugly later.
Dorothy’s wedding had already been postponed twice.
Not because of me.
The first date, nearly a year earlier, disappeared when Samuel developed pneumonia after surgery.
The second was moved because Dorothy’s sister suffered a stroke two weeks before the ceremony.
No one blamed anyone.
At least publicly.
Dorothy did.
Not her sister.
Life.
She said:
“Every time I finally choose something for myself, somebody else’s emergency becomes the center.”
I understood more than I liked admitting.
She had spent eleven years caring for Ethan’s father, Martin, through progressive heart failure.
Appointments.
Medications.
Hospitalizations.
A ventricular-assist device evaluation he eventually refused.
A dozen family events canceled because Martin became too breathless.
Vacations abandoned.
Anniversaries spent in emergency rooms.
Then he died.
Dorothy was fifty-three.
For years afterward, she seemed to have no idea who she was if nobody needed medicine from her.
Then she met Samuel.
Widower.
Former high-school principal.
Gentle.
Funny.
Completely unimpressed by the Reeves family name.
She became different around him.
Lighter.
I liked her better.
At first.
When they became engaged, she said:
“This one thing will happen on the date I choose.”
Everyone laughed.
May you like
Except perhaps Dorothy.
I should have noticed.
