couldn’t bring myself to get up. I wanted to stay in bed forever and hide from the world. Around five in the morning, I realized that wasn’t an option. I also realized I’d never heard a peep out of Brock during the night. I wondered if he hadn’t slept either. Maybe he was coming up with a plan for us to divorce too. I hoped it was better than mine.
I forced myself to get up, hoping that moving around would help me feel better. It didn’t. I got dressed anyway. I needed to be out of Brock’s house. I needed work. A reminder that I was capable of doing good things. A reason to keep trying despite the pain. Not that I didn’t carry reason enough. I held my stomach. I’m going to make it okay, baby. Somehow.
I didn’t even bother with makeup; I only threw my hair up in a messy bun. Sadly, I probably could have done with some makeup. My olive skin was pale, and my eyes were puffy from crying all night. I took some Tylenol, hoping it would help my back feel better. The ache was persistent. I almost gagged getting down the pills and water. Maybe I really did have a stomach bug. Regardless, I had to go. I would lock myself in my office away from everyone.
As I walked down the hall in the semidarkness, I noticed Brock’s light was on in his room. It wasn’t surprising, since he slept with it on every night. I paused for a moment, wondering if I were to just ask him for a divorce, if he would figure out a way. Surely that’s what he wanted too. But I was too tired to feel any more hurt.
I tiptoed down the stairs to gather my laptop and papers before heading out into the cold, dark morning. When I opened the garage door, I looked out into the sky, barely being tickled by the sun. A line of orange punctuated the horizon, trying its best to overtake the black night sky. Staring at it, I could feel the fight. As powerful as the sun was, she still had to struggle. Yet in the end, she would come out the victor. She would rise high in the sky, dispersing the darkness.
I vowed that would be me.
Chapter Eighteen
The change of scenery did nothing to help me physically feel better. In fact, I felt worse. Not only did my back hurt, but I felt a lot of pressure in my abdomen. Using my desk for support, I pulled myself out of my chair and slowly walked to the employee restroom down the hall. I was glad no one was there yet to witness me as I steadied myself against the wall as I walked.
When I entered the small no-frills bathroom with two beige stalls, I doubled over, cramping. A horrible thought entered my mind. Maybe I wasn’t sick. No. No. No. I was past the danger period. I was tired, and I must have pulled a muscle in my back is all. I tried to think of any reason for it not to be my worst nightmare. When I made it into the stall and locked the door, I had to take a second to breathe through another cramp.
I sat on the toilet, hoping to relieve some of the pressure in my abdomen, and grabbed my phone with shaky hands to google my symptoms, praying it would be anything other than a miscarriage. Before I could, I dropped my phone when I noticed some spots of pinkish blood in my panties. No. Please no. I cried.
Picking up my phone, which sported a newly cracked screen, I dialed my doctor’s after-hours number. Frustratingly, the nurse manning the line couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me anything. The only thing she could offer was to tell me to come in when they opened at eight, in a half hour.
I left as soon as I could grab my bag and drove to the doctor’s office to wait outside until they opened. While I sat in my car, I read a hundred posts from different women about their pregnancy experiences. Most were not the news I wanted, though a few gave me reason to hope. Sometimes cramping and spotting occurred during pregnancy, I read, especially in the first trimester. I was past that. Still, maybe it was okay. God, please let my baby be okay. Please don’t punish me like this.
The minutes felt like hours as I