Chapter 9 - TWENTY-FOUR WEEKS
Emma was twenty-four weeks pregnant when the first contraction made her drop a stack of books.
She was alone in the fiction aisle.
The hardcovers hit the floor one after another.
June looked up from the register.
"Emma?"
"I'm fine."
June did not move.
"That sentence has never improved any emergency."
Emma put one hand against a shelf.
Another tightening crossed her abdomen.
Not pain exactly.
Pressure.
Wrong.
"June."
That was enough.
Ten minutes later they were driving toward the hospital through hard rain.
Emma called Dr. Shaw on speaker.
"Time them."
"I don't know how."
"Start now. When it stops, tell June to say stop."
Emma closed her eyes.
The contraction faded.
"Stop."
Six minutes later, another came.
By the time they reached the emergency entrance, Emma was shaking.
"Tell me she's okay," she said to the triage nurse before giving her name.
"We need to check you both."
"Tell me first."
The nurse put a monitor against Emma's abdomen.
A fast heartbeat filled the room.
Emma sobbed.
The nurse smiled.
"That's your baby. Strong heartbeat. Now we're going to see why your uterus is being dramatic."
Tests followed.
IV fluids.
Medication.
A cervical check Emma hated.
Hours passed.
The contractions slowed.
Dr. Shaw sat beside the bed.
"You are not in active labor."
Emma exhaled.
"But?"
"But your body is telling us to take this seriously. You're going to reduce activity. You're staying near the hospital. No trips. No lifting boxes at the bookstore."
"I barely lift anything."
Dr. Shaw gave her a look.
"Pregnant women become lawyers the moment I prescribe rest."
Emma managed a smile.
"The baby?"
"Still looks good."
June sat by the window texting Rachel.
Emma's phone rang.
Eleanor.
Emma stared at it.
"Rachel called her," June admitted.
Emma answered.
"Hi."
"Emma?"
Eleanor sounded terrified.
"I'm okay."
"The baby?"
"Okay."
Eleanor began crying.
Emma closed her eyes.
"Please don't cry."
"I am allowed. Apparently everyone in Oregon says we're allowed things now."
Emma laughed weakly.
Then Eleanor asked carefully, "Do you want Nathan to know?"
Emma stared at the rain sliding down the window.
Six weeks earlier, the question would have felt like a trap.
Now it felt like a choice.
"Tell him we're stable."
"Only that?"
"Only that."
"Do you want him to know where you are?"
Emma's throat tightened.
"No."
"Okay."
In Manhattan, Nathan was halfway through a board presentation when Eleanor called twice.
He answered the second call.
"Mom?"
"Emma was hospitalized."
Nathan stood so fast his chair hit the wall.
Every person at the table went silent.
"What happened?"
"Contractions. Too early."
His vision narrowed.
"The baby?"
"Stable."
"Emma?"
"Stable."
"Where?"
Eleanor was quiet.
Nathan shut his eyes.
"You promised not to tell me."
"Yes."
Everything in him screamed to push.
Call security.
Call hospitals.
Call the private aviation desk.
Find her.
Instead, Nathan put one hand on the table.
"Does she need anything?"
Eleanor went silent.
"Mom?"
"I'm here."
"Does she need anything?"
Eleanor's voice broke.
"I'll ask."
Nathan ended the call.
The board chair stared at him.
"Do you need to leave?"
"Yes."
He stopped.
"No."
Everyone looked confused.
Nathan rubbed his face.
"I need to be available. I do not have permission to go where she is."
It was one of the strangest sentences he had ever said in a boardroom.
He meant it.
That night, Emma lay in the hospital unable to sleep.
Her fear had settled into a dull ache.
A nurse came in with a small package.
"Delivery for you."
"From who?"
"No idea."
Emma opened it.
Inside was a faded blue scarf.
She knew it immediately.
Nathan had worn it the night they met.
It had fallen off his chair three times at a coffee shop.
Emma had finally picked it up and said, "If you lose this again, I'm keeping it."
Nathan had smiled.
"Then I may lose it on purpose."
A note lay beneath the scarf.
You once told me this was the first thing about me you liked.
I keep wanting to tell you I can fix everything.
That's the old version of me.
I can't fix what I did to you.
I can only become different and let you decide whether that matters.
I love you.
I love our child.
Neither gives me the right to demand that you return.
—Nathan
Emma pressed the note against her chest.
She cried quietly so the nurse would not come back worried.
Then she took a photograph of the scarf beside the note.
Her thumb hovered over Nathan's name.
For the first time since leaving New York, Emma sent him something that was not a boundary.
I remember.
Nathan's reply came almost immediately.
So do I.
No more.
Emma set the phone down.
The next morning, Dr. Shaw entered with the follow-up scan results.
"The heart finding is unchanged and still isolated. I'm not concerned."
Emma exhaled.
Then the doctor sat instead of leaving.
"There is something else we need to discuss."
Emma's stomach tightened.
Dr. Shaw placed the chart on her lap.
"Your cervix has shortened since the last scan."
Emma went cold.
"What does that mean?"
"It means we need to prepare for the possibility your daughter may come earlier than planned."
---
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