Chapter 493

Olivia

I yawned and flipped to the next page of the catalog. With the magazine in one hand and a marker in the other, I periodically circled items that we still needed for Alvin’s nursery; a mobile, some baskets for the changing station, a rug, curtains.

With the date for the c-section just a few days away now, we were currently on crunch time with Alvin’s nursery. We had decided to convert one of the spare bedrooms downstairs, but it was only halfway done.

“I just wish we had more time,” I said under my breath as I looked through the catalog.

“Me, too.” Nathan met my gaze in the vanity mirror as he combed out his damp hair. He was fresh out of the shower, his bare muscles glistening with water droplets. A towel hung loosely around his hips, revealing the very top of his groin in the mirror. “But I’m sure little Alvin won’t mind if we’re still putting on some finishing touches when he arrives.”

I smirked a bit and flipped to the next page. “He is the one who decided to come almost four months early, after all.”

As I kept flipping through the pages of the catalog, a sense of optimism washed over me. The date for the c-section was just a few days away now, and both Nathan and I were feeling good. I had high hopes about the birth going smoothly, and so did Nathan.

Of course, there was still an undercurrent of anxiety surrounding this early c-section. The chances of complications were high, but I tried not to think about that.

“Hey,” Nathan said then, clearing his throat.

“Hmm?” I barely lifted my eyes from the magazine sitting open on my lap.

He nodded his head toward the untouched plate of toast and eggs that was sitting on the bedside table. “You didn’t touch your breakfast.”

I furrowed my brow as I followed his gaze. “Oh… you’re right,” I said. “I guess I got a little distracted.”

Nathan smirked. “Well, I think the nursery furnishings can wait until you eat something.”

…

I scrunched up my nose and rolled over, letting out a heavy sigh as I rubbed my stomach. More nausea. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been that day when Angela took me to the hospital, but it was still enough to leave me feeling uncomfortable.

The door to the bedroom creaked open and I lifted my head to see Nathan standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” he said. “Feeling any better?”

“A little.”

“Did you drink the ginger ale I gave you?”

“Some of it.”

Nathan sighed and crossed the room, a worried expression on his face as he touched my forehead. “You don’t feel hot,” he said gently. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the doctor?”

I offered him a smile and shook my head. “I’m fine, Nathan. I think the smell of the eggs just turned my stomach or something.”

My husband looked at me for a few moments, concern flashing through his eyes. He didn’t seem to believe me. But finally, he nodded and pulled his hand away from my forehead.

“Alright. I’m gonna trust your judgment here,” he replied. He lingered, though, and sat down on the edge of the bed. I rolled over to face him and rested my head in his lap, then closed my eyes for a few moments as I inhaled his sweet scent.

“It’s almost over,” I said softly after a few beats of silence.

“Or it hasn’t even begun.”

Nathan’s pessimistic tone gave me pause. I cracked my eyes open and looked up at him, shooting him a quizzical gaze. “What do you mean?” I asked.

He shrugged as he absentmindedly stroked my hair. The dark circles under his eyes still hadn’t faded; if anything, they had only become more pronounced over the past two weeks.

“We’re about to have a very premature baby,” he said. “I hope… I don’t know. I shouldn’t say it.”

I furrowed my brow. “Say it,” I whispered, even though I already had a pretty good idea as to what he was getting at.

Nathan paused for a few moments, chewing the inside of his cheek nervously, before he let out a shuddering breath. “I just worry about the complications,” he finally said, his voice low and strained. “Or… Or if he’ll even make it.”

A sudden knot formed in my throat faster than I could even process what Nathan was saying. I realized, then, that he was right; and maybe our earlier optimism had been more of a coping mechanism than anything.

Because the doctor had already informed us of the chances of a baby that premature living. And the chances were low.

“I’m sorry, Liv,” Nathan said. “I didn’t mean to—”

I quickly shook my head and blinked away the tears that had begun to mist over my eyes. “No, um… You’re right,” I interrupted. “We should be realistic about this. It’s not good to be too optimistic.”

As I spoke, my eyes drifted over to the bedside table. The little wolf plushie that Nathan had bought for our unborn son still sat there where I had left it last week.

Just looking at it made me tear up again, as the possibility that our son might never actually be able to hold it in his hands washed over me.

Nathan opened his mouth to respond then. But before he could, there was a sudden knock rapping on the front door downstairs. It was so sudden, in fact, that we both jumped.

“Were you expecting someone?” I asked, propping myself up on one elbow as Nathan stood with a sigh.

“Erm, no,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s Clint or something. He did say he was gonna start getting to work on the garden—”

The knock came again, more urgent this time. Before I could say anything else, Nathan was already turning on his heel and jogging out of the room. The door swung shut with a soft click behind him, followed by the sound of his footsteps heading down the hallway and down the stairs.

I sighed and rolled onto my back. Now that I was alone, Nathan’s words from earlier seemed to echo in the silence, and I felt even more nausea with the worry that was coursing through me.

He was right; our baby’s chances were slim. And no matter how much I wanted to be optimistic, the fact of the matter was that I just might not come home with a baby in my arms.

That thought terrified me.

In the silence, I heard the sound of the front door opening. I heard Nathan’s muffled voice carry through the quiet house; he said something that I couldn’t quite hear. But he sounded surprised—and not in a pleasant sort of way.

Furrowing my brow, I carefully sat up and strained my ears to listen. And then I heard it.

“Nathan, I need to speak with you in private. Now.”

The sound of the voice, the urgency and the dark tone, made my skin crawl. I hadn’t heard that voice since the luncheon—since he told me to stay away from his wife, with that threatening undertone to his words. And that same undertone laced his words now, as he spoke to Nathan.

Dan.