Stormy Surrender - By Nicole Andrews Moore Page 0,1

in a row she would stop in for a pregnancy test.

When she and Blaine first married, she would get all excited about the possibility of being pregnant a couple of times a year. But after years of giving him false hope, Martha had finally stopped mentioning her frequent trips to the doctor. And she had no reason to think that on this particular visit, her results would be any different. With Blaine’s erratic schedule, they barely had time for discourse any more, forget about intercourse.

“Come on back, Martha,” the nurse said with a warm smile. She ushered her into an exam room.

“Oh, I just came in for some lab work,” Martha protested.

“I know. The doctor wants to discuss the results with you,” she said with a wink.

Martha felt a stirring. Something was up. Minutes later she found herself wearing the ridiculous paper gown, lying on a paper covered table, with her feet in stirrups. The light shining on her crotch bothered her, but the speculum made her downright uncomfortable.

“We’ll just run a few tests,” her doctor said. “Standard operating procedure when it comes to pregnancy.”

She glowed. After years of false hope, she was finally pregnant. Martha wanted to rush out of the office right away, rush to Blaine’s office one floor away, and burst through the door shouting the good news. But something prevented her from doing that. The doctor had said it was early in the pregnancy. She could just resist until she made it through the first trimester. Just three weeks and then she would tell him.

Smiling, Martha found herself humming all the way home. She had so much planning to do, so much to look forward to in the new year. Her life would never be the same.

The next week passed in a blur. Martha had so much to accomplish. She had two Thanksgiving feasts to prepare. It had been the tradition ever since Blaine had opened his own practice that she would serve his staff an early feast the Tuesday before Thanksgiving to show his appreciation for them. Martha didn’t mind. She loved cooking for people, loved entertaining, and loved making those around her happy.

So, Martha spent each day doing something to ready herself for the big events. She didn’t believe in store bought anything. Her pies were from scratch, as was her stuffing, her applesauce, her breads, even the cranberry sauce and green bean casserole. And everyone who had sampled her food agreed that she was the best cook.

By ten Tuesday morning she was hauling food out to the Aztek. She loaded a spare table, a few extra folding chairs. The next trip from the house had her packing coffee urns and bottled water. At last every staple seemed to have found its space in the back of her vehicle and she drove the brief distance to her husband’s office.

The unloading was a far more arduous task, and impatience bested her. She grew tired of waiting on the elevator and decided to haul the final load up three flights of stairs. By the time she reached the landing, she felt a straining in her back. Martha knew if she could just make it to the office she could lie down on the couch in his inner sanctum. As she pulled the table through the door, beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and over her lip. She brushed them away and tried to smile at the head nurse as she struggled through the door. Then, she collapsed.

Somewhere in the distance people were crying out in shock and dismay. Martha struggled to join them, but she felt as though she were under water and couldn’t quite break the surface. When she finally awoke, she was in the hospital. She felt the color vanish from her face. “My baby,” she whispered hoarsely.

Only a nurse checking her chart was there to hear. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said quietly, rubbing Martha’s arm.

“My husband?” Martha asked. She could feel her eyes welling up with tears.

The nurse shifted uncomfortably on her feet for moment. Martha could tell she was unsure of how to answer that question. “I’m sure he’ll be here later, honey.” More arm rubbing, then she slowly backed away from the bed and bolted from the room.

Curling up into fetal position, Martha let warm salty tears rush down her face and pool on her pillow. She had never felt so alone in all her life. And suddenly she was struggling with this uncontrollable urge to run away. She