For a while, I couldn’t breathe or eat. I just curled up in our bed, wrapped in one of his old hoodies, trying to remember how to exist. Then the nausea hit, relentless and unshakable.
I thought it was grief making me sick, until the doctor told me I was pregnant with twins. Twins. Ethan would’ve cried happy tears.
Me? I was terrified. I was barely functioning, and now I had two lives growing inside me.
The doctor told me my pregnancy was high-risk. I had to go on strict bed rest and be constantly monitored. I couldn’t live alone anymore.
I didn’t have many options. My mom passed when I was a teen, and Ethan’s parents had retired and moved to Arizona. So, I called my dad.
Dad’s house wasn’t really his house anymore, not since he remarried Veronica. She was much younger than he was, glamorous in a sharp-edged, magazine-cover kind of way, with shiny blonde hair and perfect nails that never looked like they’d done a day’s work. Still, I hoped we could make it work.
Continue reading…
