Chapter Four

“Hello, Abby.”

“Jonah.” His name was all Abby managed to push past frozen lips.

Leo’s surprised gaze flicked between them. “You two know each other?”

Jonah cleared his throat. “Abby and I grew up down the block from each other in Springfield.”

“I had no idea.” Leo opened his mouth as if to say more, then stopped, his gaze drawn to a member of the catering staff waving wildly. “Excuse me. It appears we have a problem. Enjoy reconnecting.”

Abby wished she could simply turn and walk away from Jonah liked he’d walked away from her all those years earlier. But she couldn’t move. Her feet felt heavy, as if weighted down by a thick block of ice.

For the moment, it appeared she was stuck. She lifted her chin and gazed into familiar blue eyes. “What are you doing here?”

+

Five years ago

“We need to deliver the baby today.” Dr. Moser, the perinatologist who’s been following me throughout my pregnancy, is a blunt man. Though he has kind eyes, he doesn’t pull punches.

Tiny beads of perspiration pop out all over my body, and a rivulet of sweat slithers down my spine. I shift my bulk and wish for my mom. I desperately need someone’s hand to hold.

The doctor’s piercing gaze, focused directly on me, gives me nowhere to hide. He won’t say more until I respond. That’s how he rolls.

I lift my hand to my neck and pretend to be contemplating the unexpected announcement. What I’m really doing is fighting the fear clawing at my throat.

I’m barely thirty-six weeks. I thought I’d have more time.

I drop my hand to my belly. Eva Grace kicks against my palm, and I relax. As long as she’s inside me, she’s safe.

Dr. Moser studies me.

I keep a tight rein on my emotions. I feel as if he’s assessing me, looking for any signs of weakness. He won’t see any. When I give in to my fears, it will be in the privacy of my own apartment.

“Why today?” I nearly cheer when my voice comes out steady and firm.

“Your blood pressure is high.” His gaze remains fixed on my face. “You’re spilling protein into your urine. Your ankles are swollen.”

“It’s August, and the humidity is off the charts.” I keep my voice light, hoping he’ll crack a smile.

Instead, he rubs his chin. “You have preeclampsia.”

I nod as if I understand. I should ask what that is, but I don’t want to know. Not now. Not when my emotions are close to the surface and I feel as fragile as an egg in a toddler’s hand.

Somehow, I manage to summon a smile. “What’s the harm in waiting a couple more weeks?”

“Not advisable.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Your condition can easily—and quickly—move into full-blown eclampsia. If that happens, you risk seizures, even death.”

I swallow hard against rising panic. “But her lungs—”

“She should be fine.”

Should be. Over the past months, I’ve grown to despise qualifiers.

“Tell me the plan.”

To his credit, he doesn’t skimp on details. Though he speaks clearly, my heart beats so loudly it drowns out his voice. I do hear that the epidural will help lower my blood pressure.

“Abby.” His voice softens to an almost-grandfatherly tone. “If you want to call someone to be with you during the delivery, this would be the time.”

I give a jerky nod.

As soon as he leaves the room, I pull the phone from my bag. I stare at it for several heartbeats. Who is there to call? The friend from college who promised to be with me is on vacation in Hawaii. Even if she were willing to fly back, she wouldn’t make it in time.

Jonah. A tiny voice in my head whispers his name.

I can’t believe I’m even considering calling him. Not after he turned on me, on us. Not after I made it clear what I thought of someone who didn’t have the balls to stand up for his child’s life.

He didn’t fight back. Which pissed me off even more. I made it clear I was done with him and Veronica. The baby and I would do just fine without either of them or their money.

Still, I stroke my belly and consider. Despite my cutting him out of my life, he sends cash every month. There are letters, too, addressed to the baby and me. I don’t read them.

My teeth sink into my lower lip, and I taste blood. I scroll through my contacts and find his name. I’ve come so close to deleting his contact information but haven’t been able to bring myself to cut that final cord.

Call me weak. Foolish. It isn’t anything I haven’t called myself.

I hit the number. My breath hitches at the sound of a voice. But the voice is tinny and slightly bored.

“The person’s mailbox you are trying to reach is full. Please try again later.”

Give up, I tell myself. Consider this a sign.

I think of being alone in that delivery room, and I text him. I tell him what’s happening and ask him to be with me for the birth.

I hit “Send,” and the message shows as delivered. I’m still waiting for a response when the nurse steps into the room. I can barely concentrate on the instructions. I keep glancing at my phone, my ears on high alert.

When she leaves, I gather my things but remain in the office. My legs are shaking so hard, I’m not sure I can walk. Even as I sit there, my mind races.

Wednesday used to be Jonah’s day off. Perhaps he’s at home. I try his landline and curse when I get the recording. I leave a message.

“Hi, Jonah.” I pause to clear my throat. “It’s Abby. The doctor is going to deliver the baby this afternoon at Arborview. My, ah, my blood pressure is up, and he seems to think it’s necessary.”

I attempt a laugh, but it pitches high and scares me, so I hurry on. “I tried your cell, but the mailbox is full. My friend can’t be there, and I wondered if you might like to come. I’m kinda scared and . . .”

Tears slip down my cheek. I swipe them away with the pads of my fingers and take a steadying breath. “It would be nice to have someone with me. But you need to come now.”

I try to think of something else to say, but my mind goes to a blue screen. “Well, hope you can make it.”

After making sure the volume is up, I shove the phone into my pocket.

The Jonah I knew, the boy I once loved with youthful abandon, would never miss the birth of his child.

I cling to the hope that he’ll come, even as the phone remains silent.

+

Veronica played the message a second time.

Abby. Though she’d once liked the woman, all positive feelings had disappeared when she’d refused the abortion. Didn’t she realize the hell she’d put Jonah through? The strain she’d put on their marriage?

How many times had he mentioned his desire to contact Abby and “make things right?” Too many to count, that was for sure. Her husband didn’t seem to comprehend the simple fact that a special-needs child would ruin their lives.

Veronica wished things could be different. Dear God, she wished things were different. If they were, she and Jonah would have been at the hospital at that moment, welcoming a baby girl into their lives.

But once again, her dreams of a perfect family had collapsed.

She thought of the years she and Jonah had spent trying to conceive. Then the miscarriages. Even when the doctor had gently told her that her egg quality was poor, she’d wanted to keep trying.

Jonah had been the one to suggest adoption. For a second, her lips curved as she recalled the day they’d gotten the call that Kayla, a college student, had chosen her and Jonah.

The baby boy that the college student carried was to be theirs.

The nursery was readied, each piece of furniture carefully considered. She’d had the room professionally decorated in a Peter Rabbit theme. As Kayla’s due date approached, the bureau drawers grew crowded with impossibly cute baby-boy outfits from four baby showers. Everything had been ready.

She and Jonah had been with Kayla in the delivery room. But instead of handing the baby to Veronica as planned, the doctor had handed him to Kayla.

It was a simple mistake. The doctor wasn’t Kayla’s regular OB. He hadn’t known the baby was to come to Veronica. But when she’d stepped forward to take him, Kayla’s arms had tightened around her son.

Veronica pinched her lips together to still the sudden trembling. Jonah had wanted to try again, but she couldn’t face another birth mother changing her mind. They’d looked at surrogacy but couldn’t afford it. Until Abby had laughingly mentioned, when they’d been discussing the $100,000 price tag for a surrogate, that she’d do it for half the price.

Another disappointment.

Veronica’s gaze dropped to the ridiculous landline Jonah insisted on keeping. A few taps deleted the message.

She moved swiftly to the kitchen, to the phone her husband had left on the counter that morning when he’d left to shoot hoops with friends.

She knew his password. Jonah had no secrets from her.

It took Veronica only a second to delete the text.

Abby had chosen to continue the pregnancy.

Now she had to live with that choice.