“No, there is no bleeding.” Owen speaks into the phone as he walks back to me and links his cold fingers with my own. I close my eyes, unable to take it as I give him my hand, the other with my child.
“Okay, yeah, it’s Saint Street in Notting Hill, the pub on the corner. You can’t miss it.”
Owen hangs up quickly, returning his attention to me, yet I just can’t seem to open my eyes as we wait for the paramedics. I keep them shut so firmly I see stars. My hand, still linked with Owen’s, is clutched so tightly around his own I feel his bones. He begins moving his thumb over my hand, back and forth, back and forth, while we wait.
It’s five minutes, although it feels like a lifetime, later when the paramedics arrive. The room seems to disappear, along with everyone else in it, and I sit with the two men and they ask me basic questions about myself and the baby.
Owen doesn’t leave my side for a moment, making sure to help me out if I pause or am unsure. Eventually I’m deemed okay, but a trip to the hospital is in order just to be sure. I’m thankful they recommend it, my mind still frantic despite their reassurances. I mean, what if they missed something? What if something is wrong with her?
“Are you okay to stand, miss?” One of them asks me the question—I’m not sure who because my mind has begun to race yet again.
I nod, but Owen slips his arm under me nonetheless, then lifts me to my feet and leads me out of Saint Street. I ignore the looks from my friends, not able to face them. I’ve never been a coward; I’ve always looked life and challenges straight in the eye, and some—okay, most—would call me a bull in a china shop, but since the baby has come along, a sense of caution and fear has invaded my system and I can’t seem to escape it.
Despite everyone’s reassurances that we are okay, the ride to the hospital is a blur. My mind is a fast-paced tornado of horrible thoughts and fears, questioning if I had done one thing differently today, would that have changed the outcome? But isn’t that how it always goes?
Maybe if I woke up five minutes earlier, or didn’t work late, or wore different shoes, none of this would have happened. But the reality is, it’s very much happening, and no small difference of actions will change that now.
“It’s going to be okay,” Owen says next to me, voice firm and sure. I take his hand and give it a squeeze because something tells me he needs it a bit more than I do right now.
“I know,” I lie. “It’s just scary.”
His eyes lock onto my own as he nods. Suddenly his attention drowns out the flashing red lights, smells of antiseptics, and pure panic.
I make sure to stay looking at him the rest of the ride, and it’s not long before we’re at the hospital. I’m quickly admitted and left alone with Owen in a waiting room until the doctor arrives. We say nothing, as he knows me, and one too many uncertain promises might send me over the edge.
The door opens and in comes a doctor in a white coat, clipboard in her hand. “Hi, I’m Dr. Stephans, and you must be—” She pauses, looking down. “Ms. Knight. It says here you had a small fall and are twenty-seven weeks pregnant?”
I nod. “I tripped on some stairs and fell on my side. I just want to make sure everything is okay.”
She nods, the glasses sitting at the end of her nose threatening to fall off any second. Her big brown eyes turn to Owen, who is hovering by my side.
“And you must be Dad?” she asks him, seeming already sure that he is. I don’t know why, but the question sends a pang to my heart. Owen stiffens slightly before relaxing when he sees my attention on him.
“Uh, no,” I cut in for him. “Just a supportive friend.”
“Oh, my apologies,” she says before coming to sit next to me. “So, shall we take a look and make sure everything is tip top?”
I lie down and pull up the bottom of my jumper, exposing my rounded stomach. It’s not huge, but definitely obvious I’m expecting.
“Okay, this is going to be a little bit cold at first, but I’m sure nothing you haven’t already experienced.”
The gel squeezes out, coating my stomach and sending a chill down my spine. Owen grabs my hand and looms over me while Dr. Stephans gets to work. It’s no time before the deep thrum of a heartbeat echoes through the room, a gust of breath erupting out of me.
She’s okay.
“You hear that?” the doctor asks me, her rose-colored lips tilting up at the sides.
My head moves up and down anxiously as I stare at the screen, seeing the little human looking back at me. My throat tightens, and I fear that if I speak even a single syllable, I’ll lose it.
So instead I smile, reaching out to touch the screen.
“So, everything’s okay?” Owen’s voice is laced with panic.
“Everything is okay,” she confirms. “But you’re going to have to take it easy, okay? I’m not saying you have to go on bed rest, but you need to be careful. Can you do that?”
I nod, willing to do anything at this point.
“Is it still okay that I work? I’m a pharmacist, so I’m on my feet a lot.”
“You can still work, but I don’t want you on your feet the whole time. See if you can
