my baby. And after losing so much, I would gain nothing in return.
I sat down on the old burnt orange couch, staring off into space, feeling numb. For a moment, I felt as if I didn’t exist. Even the painful cramping didn’t register. My only link to reality came from the angry buzzing of my phone. Over and over and over it vibrated. It finally got annoying enough that I reached into my bag to see who it was. Brock’s name was flashing at me on the cracked screen. My thumb hovered over the answer button. I debated about answering and telling Brock his services were no longer needed. He could have his name back. But I was so tired. And I couldn’t stand the thought of him being relieved while I was heartbroken.
I turned the phone off and tossed it on the coffee table. It was then I noticed the empty wineglasses and strawberry tops scattered all over a platter on the table in front of me. My guess was that they were the remnants of chocolate-covered strawberries. I mustered up a smile for my sister. She and Tristan had been spending every spare moment they had together since Friday night. Tristan had even extended his trip so he could spend more time with her. It was exactly what Kinsley needed—a man to put her first. To hear the giddiness in her voice when she’d called to tell me her good news yesterday was like a healing balm to my soul. I needed some of that now.
Tired and unsure what to do, I kicked off my shoes and lay on the couch, pulling an old afghan over me. I felt like a ticking time bomb, but the lack of sleep from the night before coupled with my emotional state had my body begging for rest. I closed my eyes, my mind reeling and feeling so lost. Sleep, though, overtook me, giving me some respite.
I don’t know how long I slept, but I woke up to a sharp pain in my abdomen and a gush of blood so heavy it soaked right through the pad I had put on before I’d left the doctor’s office. I bolted up. My pants and the couch were covered in blood. Before I could feel bad about ruining the couch, something told me I should run to the bathroom and not worry about the stain. When I got there, more blood gushed out. This was nothing like a period—it was more like a scene out of a horror movie. I was certain I was filling more than two pads an hour. Yet there was no way I was leaving the toilet to grab my phone.
Dr. Paulson should have better prepared me for the onslaught of pain and the amount of blood I was losing. I was doubled over, begging for relief. And every time I thought I might be able to leave and get my phone to call for help, more blood would gush out.
It felt as if I had been in the bathroom for hours, and I soon began to get cold and shake. Desperate to get warm, I grabbed Kinsley’s towels off the rack and covered myself with them. I felt bad ruining them, but I would buy her a new set.
For a frightening moment, between the pain and the dizziness, I thought maybe this was it. I was going to die here in this bathroom. I knew I needed to get up and call the doctor, even if I did leave a trail of blood behind me. But my legs felt like Jell-O, and I barely had enough energy to breathe through the horrific cramps. All I could do was lean over and rest my head on the counter. Tears poured down my cheeks. I didn’t even bother to pray. The pavilion I’d created separating me from God was impenetrable. A loneliness like I had never known encompassed me, doing its best to swallow me whole.
I must have gone in and out of consciousness, because I startled when I heard my name tear through the loft. If there was sound that personified terrified, Brock screaming my name would qualify. I didn’t have enough energy to respond.
“Where did all the blood come from?” Kinsley cried.
“Dani,” Ariana shouted my name in a panic.
I could hear Brock’s heavy footsteps sprinting in my direction. I didn’t care that I was in the most humiliating position possible or half-naked covered in a towel—I needed help. And