Prologue
LANA FINLEY
June 29, 1992
It’d been a few hours since I felt my baby girl moving.
For the first two, I pushed it to the side, thinking she was asleep. It wasn’t unusual for her to sleep during the day while I worked around the house. But when I sat on the couch, propped my swollen feet up, and watched TV, she still hadn’t moved.
That was enough to make me worry.
Usually, as I rested, that was when she moved around.
And even as a tiny voice in the back of my head told me this wasn’t good, I set it aside with the thought—nothopebecause that left an opening that something bad was happening—that my baby was sleeping.
When hour three approached, my eyes drifted to the clock on the wall, ticking by the seconds. I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I pushed and prodded my swollen stomach in hopes my baby would move around. But as I kept pushing, she didn’t kick, making my heart stop. All the alarms in my head went off as my pulse thundered in my ears until it was all I heard.
Every worry from the tiny voice at the back of my head, whispering my fears, was stamped out before it grew louder because I didn’t want to give those thoughts any power. It would send me into a spiral that I was trying to avoid.
My eyes flicked to the clock as sweat beaded on my upper lip. The dread built until it became hard to take a breath. I could feel every nerve ending tingle and sweat ooze from my sensitive pores.
I couldn’t keep calm. My chest hurt as my heart hammered against my chest. And trying to remain cool and not work myself up only made it worse.
Drew was getting off work soon, but I knew I couldn’t wait another hour. I needed to go to the doctor’s office and have them check on my baby girl. But I needed my husband home to take me because he had our only car.
Getting to my feet, I held back a groan from the pressure on my swollen feet and ankles. I strode to the kitchen and snatched up the phone. With shaking fingers, I dialed the doctor’s office three times before I finally got the numbers right. I tried to even my breathing and keep calm as I listened to the line ring.
I squeezed my eyes shut as it kept ringing. It felt like forever as I waited and rubbed my belly, willing my girl to move. For her to show me she was okay and hadn’t left me before giving life a chance.
“I promise to show you the good in life if you just give me a sign you’re okay.Please, baby,” I shakily whispered to her.
I held my breath, hoping she understood and would do as I begged.
A feminine voice came from the other side of the line as she answered the phone.
Blinking rapidly a few times, I didn’t give her time to finish her greeting before I explained what was going on and that I needed to see my doctor today. She agreed, and bless her, stayed calm as she told me to get to the hospital to get checked in at labor and delivery as quickly and safely as I could. She said the doctor would be there waiting for me. I told her I’d be there within the next half hour before I hung up.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to breathe through my panic.
They wanted me to go to labor and delivery. I couldn’t stop my head from spinning and the spots dotting behind my closed eyes. I was bordering on panicking and couldn’t because it wasn’t good for the baby.
Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I took several deep, shaky breaths as I dialed Drew’s work phone number with the same shaking fingers. As it rang, I clutched my stomach with my other hand, praying he was nearby and could take the call.
As the line kept ringing, I gritted my teeth and looked around the kitchen. My eyes didn’t stay in one spot. I swallowed back the rising panic as no one answered thefuckingphone.
I needed Drew.
I needed him now, and he needed to know something was going on with our child too, dammit!
As I pulled the phone away from my ear, I heard his deep voice and quickly put it back to my ear. In one breath, I explained what was happening and begged him to hurry home so he would take me to the hospital.
By the end of the call, tears streamed down my cheeks, and I couldn’t control my breathing. A lump rose in my throat, and my forehead felt tight with a steady throb while I held back the sobs that so desperately wanted to break free.
I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to worry my husband, and I certainly didn’t want to get it in my head that there was a problem with our baby.
Or worse.
But the tears wouldn’t listen, so I let them fall because the unknown of this situation was scary.
