Our game starts in 30 and I haven’t heard from you
We won, but I played one of my shittiest games of the season. I’m worried about you. Everything okay?
The last text came in fourteen minutes ago, so I quickly reply to assure him I’m fine.
Haisley
Oops I slept seven and a half hours. I guess our trip really wore me out.
Rasmus
Jesusfucking Christ
How will I ever survive as a parent if I panic this much when you don’t text me back in a few hours
Never mind. Don’t answer. I guess I’m a bit tired as well, and it’s making me overreact…
Haisley
I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. You must be exhausted. Good luck tomorrow.
Rasmus
Thanks. I’m heading to bed, but I’ll speak to you tomorrow.
Haisley
Good night, baby daddy
Rasmus
Good night, baby mama (look what you made me do)
Chuckling to myself, I get up and walk downstairs to the kitchen. I pull open the fridge and scan its contents with mild disappointment. A mental checklist of things I need to buy from the local shop begins forming in my head.Milk, eggs, fruit, something sweet…maybe cupcakes.
The local shop is only three blocks away, and fresh air might do me good after that monster nap. With the decision made, I grab my orange coat from one of the hooks by the door, slipping it over my neon green sweater. My purse rests on the floor where I left it earlier, and I sling it over my shoulder, pocketing my phone. Double-checking that I have my keys and wallet, I pull open the door.
The wind immediately hits my face, and I brace myself against the cold as I step outside. Then, my foot catches on a patch of black ice.
The world tilts around me, and I don’t have time to react before I hit the ground. The pain explodes through my entire body. My elbow smacks against the frozen concrete and my purse slips from my shoulder, its contents spreading on the sidewalk. A sharp, twisting agony shoots up my ankle. The scream that rips from my throat gets swallowed by the wind.
My breaths come in sharp, choked gasps as panic sinks its claws into me.
The baby.
I suck in a ragged breath as I cradle my stomach. There’s no sharp pain there, and I don’t think I hit it when I fell. But that doesn’t stop the fear creeping in. My heart pounds wildly as I look down, seeing no external signs of injury.
A male voice, laced with concern, calls out, “Miss, are you okay?”
I blink up, tears clouding my vision, and see an older gentleman approaching, his cane tapping against the pavement with each careful step. A small dog tugs gently at its leash beside him.
“I saw you fall and came over as soon as I could.”
“I—” I try to speak, but my voice cracks on a sob. My ankle throbs, my elbow stings, and worst of all, fear for my unborn child almost paralyzes me. “I’m pregnant,” I finally manage. “Just past the first trimester. I need medical help.”
The words taste foreign and terrifying on my tongue. Saying them out loud makes the situation feel even more real, and my hands tighten protectively over my stomach.
The commotion outside must have alarmed two of my neighbors who come out to see what’s happening. One ofthem, Mrs. Ellison, who has lived next door since I was a kid, gasps when she sees me on the ground.
