She didn't tell anyone else. “Ellie! You need to go to the doctor,” Sam had urged. “You can’t—you can’t even know for sure, not really, without a blood test.” But Ellie knew. And anyway, going to the doctor, that official paperwork, it would make it all too real. The day after Sam had rushed over, large blended smoothies in hand from Ellie’s favorite drive-through café, Henry had called.

First, Ellie had genuinely missed the call. When he called again, she stared at her phone and willed it to stop until he gave up. Henry never did leave a message.

She couldn’t speak to him. Nerves were drowning her. How could you talk to the father of your baby and not tell him everything?

“What can I do?” Sam had asked.

“Nothing.”

“Come on. Let me help. Tell me what I can do,” Sam had insisted.

“Really. Just… I needed to tell someone. That’s all.”

Ellie kept on with her support of Eli, too. It was endless lunches, fancy dinners, and PR opportunities. But it kept her busy. At least until the night she had to race to the bathroom and barely made it before she threw up. I thought morning sickness was in the morning. A quick Google search confirmed that was a misnomer. It turned out she could randomly vomit any time of the day.

Two weeks after she told Sam, a shift occurred. Was having a baby really such a terrible thing? A lot of young mothers made it work, many of them without the father. Ellie had caught herself at baby store windows, lingering over the displays of old-fashioned bassinets that were coming back in style. I think I’d like to not know the sex, she thought. Instead, she gravitated more toward yellow and green onesies with motifs like ducks and penguins. Give her child a chance to develop their own identity instead of immediately getting plastered with labels by others.

She was taking a walk when she crossed paths with a young mother who must have been her age, and her heart squeezed again. When she saw that girl who cradled her baby with such love, Ellie got it. That’s what it was all about. And she could do this.

Six weeks in, and Ellie had finally given in to Sam’s insisting on her seeing a doctor. It was official. “Congratulations!” the OB-GYN had gushed, and Ellie beamed. “Do you want the sonogram?”

“How long does it take?” Ellie asked. “You might have to mail them to me. I have to go to a luncheon for my brother—”

“That’s right,” the doctor said. “The ladies’ brunch for leukemia, right? I can have it mailed to you, no problem.” Sometimes Ellie would still forget. Everyone knew who she was because of Eli.

“You won’t—you won’t say anything to anybody. Will you?” Ellie asked.

The doctor softened and patted her knee. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Doctor-patient confidentiality is real. Even for the president’s family.”

“Thanks,” Ellie said gratefully.

“How’s the morning sickness?”

“Not sticking to the morning,” Ellie said as she stepped off the exam table. “But good the past couple of days.”

“I can prescribe an over-the-counter option for nausea. Pick it up at reception.”

At the luncheon, Ellie commended herself for sweet-talking all those rich old ladies. She was getting better at this, the whole presidential family thing. And Eli seemed grateful. Their mom largely wanted to stay out of the spotlight, and Eli knew better than to pressure her. “Besides, she’s a loose cannon,” he’d told Ellie. “Who knows when she’ll go off on a tangent about the benefits of Ayurveda or something? She means well, but I can’t risk turning off the more conservative supporters.”

“It’s not like yoga’s witchcraft, Eli,” Ellie had said.

“Yeah, well. You’d be surprised by what some in this country think.”

Ellie kept her back straight and her ankles crossed as she sat at the front table. She’d been repeating the names of each of the women that she met silently to herself. They loved that. Feeling important, like somebody really cared. Ellie couldn’t blame them. She wouldn’t have minded that kind of doting herself.

As the executive director of the recipient foundation began to close his speech, Ellie felt a cramping deep in her stomach. A pressure began to build in her pelvis. Is this normal?

She shifted in her seat, but that made pain shoot up her back. Ellie expected pregnancy to be uncomfortable, but like this? And in the first trimester? She’d already started to mentally prepare herself. Vet school was on hold, maybe indefinitely, as far as she was concerned. She still hadn’t told her mom but figured she had time to plan out that conversation. The pain subsided a bit, and Ellie looked around the table. It was full of successful women of all ages, yet she suspected none of them were on traditional career paths.

“Excuse me,” she said to the woman seated beside her. She looked to be about thirty-five and was a pretty, if somewhat plain, brunette. “I’m just curious. How are you involved with the organization?” she asked. Ellie couldn’t think of a polite way to ask, “Do you work?”

“Oh!” the woman said. “I used to sit on the board, but I’ve eased back a bit in recent years. Rodney, my husband, is always so busy with work-related events. I’m a wife and mother first, but I still try to make time for volunteering, which I’m so passionate about.” Her speech was clearly practiced, and Ellie got the idea that she wasn’t going to get much honesty out of this one.

“Alexa is so committed,” said the woman who sat on the other side of Ellie. “I wish I had her stamina after three kids! I just have the one, but I still feel swamped. Thankfully, my husband, Chris, simply demands that I make time for my SoulCycle classes.”

“Gwennie’s so sweet,” gushed Alexa. Ellie leaned back and allowed the two women to fawn over each other. Soon enough, the rest of the table joined in. It didn’t take long to suss out that most of them volunteered sporadically—at least when they weren’t attending luncheons.

“Let’s take a selfie, girls,” said the apparent matriarch with silver hair across from Ellie. She made sure to usher Ellie into the center, and after scores of these events she knew why. Now that the drama had somewhat died down from the Sean incident, it was once again trending to tag yourself in a photo with the president’s only sister. At least until the news finds out I’m knocked up.

As Ellie stood, an unbearable pain stabbed through her abdomen. “Dear, are you feeling alright?” asked the silver-haired woman. Her voice was masked in concern, but there was certainly a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

“I’m not sure,” Ellie said. All the women frowned. You always said you were perfectly fine at such a venue, even if you were bleeding out onto the floor. “I think maybe I need to go—”

She struggled to finish her sentence, though she didn’t know what she wanted to say. To the restroom? The doctor? To Henry? Ellie had never fainted before, but just like everything in life she recognized it when it was upon her. An immense feeling of tiredness so powerful she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

How did I get on the floor? “Eleanor. Eleanor.” It was the matriarch, and she called Ellie by a name she hadn’t gone by since she was a child. “Call an ambulance,” she said, her voice rich with excitement.

“There’s no need,” a booming voice said. Suddenly there were skilled hands on her. Of course. Any event endorsed by the president, whether Eli was there or not, was going to be flooded with Secret Service agents.

It was like being blackout drunk, with only a few flashes of awareness able to poke through the blackness. The ride seemed to take forever, and it was bumpy. She felt carsick on top of everything else but couldn’t open her lips to speak.

“BP is dropping,” another strange voice said.

She must have been getting wheeled through a hospital. The fluorescent lights nearly blinded her even through her closed eyes.

“…not viable…” said another new voice.

“…how far along?”

Ellie wanted to tell them, but she couldn’t. Is my baby okay? She felt like she was trapped in sleep paralysis and used up all her energy trying to get that sentence out. Nobody heard her.

“Dr. Marin, is she fit for anesthesia?” Whoever he was, he was taking forever to answer. Her nose itched, and she wanted to scratch it. She realized in a flash it was because there were tubes stuck in her nostril.

“In my opinion, it’s the best course of action,” he said.

No. She didn’t want to go under. It terrified her. All the statistics she’d heard and read said that it was the anesthesia that actually killed you more often than not. It wasn’t whatever they did to you during it.

“Eleanor?” a man asked. “If you can hear me, I’m Francisco. I’m an anesthesiologist.” She felt her hands getting weighted down. What are they doing to me?

“I’m going to be right here with you the entire time. Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m placing an oxygen mask on you now.”

“She can’t hear you,” said a female voice. I can hear you!

Dr. Marin ignored her. “I need you to breathe deep for me,” he said. “Count backward from ten. When you wake up, it will all be over.”

What will be over?

“Ten,” he said. “Nine.” His voice was hypnotizing. She couldn’t help but count down with him in her head. Ellie tried to breathe deep and even like he asked. It wasn’t working. The anesthesia wasn’t working. She didn’t know what they were going to do to her, but she knew this—whatever it was, she sure as hell didn’t want to be awake for it.

“Eight,” he said. Eight.

She made it to six before the blackness took over.