I had imagined shouting.
Crying.
A confession.
Maybe even an apology.
I hadn’t imagined lying in a hospital bed while four tiny heartbeats continued to pulse through the room as proof that the consequences of his choices were no longer limited to our marriage.
The consultant checked the readings.
“Your contractions are continuing.”
I swallowed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re staying ahead of this.”
She didn’t promise an outcome.
She didn’t frighten me with one either.
She simply kept working.
Hours passed in pieces.
A nurse checked my IV.
Another adjusted the monitors.
The consultant returned several times.
My husband did not come back into the room.
His mother didn’t either.
Eventually, the security officer appeared once more.
He had a folder in his hand.
“I spoke with administration,” he said.
I waited.
“The cancellation request and the room change were both entered while you were still registered as an inpatient.”
