Page 32 of Forever Full Circle
When she sat on the edge of the cot, she pressed both hands to her belly and tried to will the pain to stop. She counted to twenty, then to thirty, listening to the thump of her own heart in the hollow of her chest. She tried to imagine the baby—just a blur on last week’s ultrasound—still there.
The nurse came back with a warm blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, then took her temperature and pulse. “The doctor’s on his way, and your husband will be in soon.”
Emily nodded, teeth chattering.
The curtain parted. Daniel stepped in, face lined with worry, but he forced a smile. He took her hand and just held it. They waited together, suspended in a hush.
The nurse had said it would be a few minutes. It was twenty before anyone came. When someone finally came, it wasn’t the doctor but a tech, mid-thirties and unsmiling, holding a tray of supplies.
“I’m Helen,” she said, and began prepping the ultrasound like she was assembling a rifle.
Emily watched Helen squirt the bottle of gel, then braced herself for the cold and felt it bloom across her belly, an indignity that made her flinch despite everything else.
The wand pressed into her skin, harder than she expected. Helen’s eyes never left the screen, her mouth set in a neutral line. For a long moment, there was only the whir of the machine and the dull pulse of fluorescent lighting.
Then, faint and far away, the steady thump-thump-thump of a heartbeat filled the space. Helen adjusted a dial. The sound got louder.
“There it is,” Helen said, voice clipped but not unkind. “Measuring normal.”
Daniel let his head drop, forehead almost to his knees, then looked up at the monitor. There was nothing to see but a grainy flicker, a blip in the darkness.
Helen took her time, scrolling through images, clicking buttons, recording every axis. Emily tried to read her face, but the woman was unreadable—a professional wall against the panic that must come through every hour of every shift. When it was done, she wiped the gel with a practiced hand and handed Emily a few thin towels. “Doctor will be in to talk with you soon.”
They were alone again.
When Dr. Lieberman finally entered, she was brisk but warm. She pulled up a rolling stool and perched on its edge, holding a printout of the scan in one hand and a notepad in the other.
“Hi Emily. Hi Daniel. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Emily shook her head, words gone. Daniel just said, “Thank you for seeing us.”
Dr. Lieberman laid out the findings: “The baby’s heart rate is strong. Everything looks okay. The bleeding is minimal and not accompanied by any worrisome findings. However,”—and here she shifted to look at them both, even, deliberate— “given your age, and the fact that you’ve had pain, I want you to rest as much as possible for the next two weeks. This can be stress-induced. No heavy lifting, no excessive work hours, no stress if you can avoid it. You can return to light duty after a follow-up, provided there are no more episodes.”
Emily nodded, her mind already racing down the to-do list she’d abandoned at home.
“Will she need to stay overnight?” Daniel asked.
Dr. Lieberman shook her head. “Not unless you feel faint. But you need to call immediately if anything changes.” The doctor lingered a beat, then asked, “Do you have help at work?”
Daniel nodded, too fast. “Yes. We have a full staff.”
Emily was about to protest, to say the house would fall apart without her, but the memory of the pain stopped her. Instead, she just said, “Okay. I’ll rest.”
The doctor smiled. “Good. I’ll send Helen back with your paperwork.”
Emily’s brain was a swarm:What about the house schedule? The lighthouse deal, hanging by a thread? Chantelle’s idea for the music events? Roy and his decline?
She breathed out, slow and shaky. “We’re going to need a plan,” she said.
Daniel grinned, relief softening his whole face. “We’re good at plans.”
He kissed her on the forehead, then picked up her shoes and handed them over. “Let’s go home.”
The walk to the car was slow, and Daniel kept his arm around her waist, matching her every step. The headlights blinked as they approached and he unlocked the car, and Emily realized how exhausted she was—not just in her mind, but in her bones, her very core.
As they buckled in, she glanced at her phone. Three new messages: one from Cassie (We’re fine, go slow, Charlotte’s sleeping), one from Patricia (Call me. I’ll come to where you are.), and one from the inn itself—an automated alert from the guest report system about a leaky faucet on the third floor.
Emily texted Cassie and her mom that they were heading home and closed her eyes as the road wound back toward it. The houses along the route were sunk deep in shadow. She didn’t realize how badly she wanted to be inside, safe, until Daniel cut the engine and she heard the front door open before they’d even reached the steps. Patricia appeared, framed by the screen, with a groggy, just-woken Charlotte perched on her hip and worry evident on her face.
