He glanced at me, then back at the screen. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want.”
I convinced myself he was just stressed, that men in finance handled major life changes strangely, and plenty of other excuses back then.
One evening, I noticed Ryan watching my belly from across the kitchen with an expression I couldn’t explain. I decided it was wonder.
“What?” I laughed. “Do I have spaghetti sauce on my shirt?”
“Nothing,” he said. “You’re just really pregnant.” Pregnancytracking app
“That’s the plan.”
My husband smiled, but his eyes stayed cold. I filed it away as pregnancy anxiety and ignored it.
Rachel called the next morning, just like she always did.
“How are my nephews?”
“Good. That’s a healthy sign,” she said.
“Ryan’s being weird about Noah’s name, though.”
My sister paused. “Weird how?”
“I don’t know. Distant.”
“Eve, if anything ever feels off, you call me. Any hour.”
“You worry too much,” I said, brushing it aside.
“I worry the right amount,” Rachel replied.
I was still laughing about that conversation two days later while rinsing a coffee mug at the kitchen sink, 38 weeks and one day pregnant.
The pain struck without warning.
It tore through my stomach and dropped me to my knees before I could grab the counter. My face slammed against the tile floor. I couldn’t breathe.
I heard Ryan rushing over, then dialing 911.
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