Page 182 of Diego

I focus on that for a while because it is real and ordinary and has nothing to do with hospitals or blood or the horrible certainty that I was losing something before I even figured out what it meant to me.

I should probably tell Diego.

That thought comes almost immediately, followed by the equally immediate certainty that I won’t.

He would want to know. I know that. He would probably be upset if he found out later that I had been waking from nightmares and pretending everything was fine. He has been patient with me in ways I did not expect from him, and he has never once made me feel ridiculous for being afraid. If anything, he takes every fear seriously enough for both of us.

That is part of the problem.

I remember his face in the hospital too clearly.

He had looked terrified, genuinely terrified in a way I had never seen from him before. I had been so consumed by my own panic that I barely registered it at first, but afterward I kept remembering pieces of it: the way he came through the door, how tightly he held me, how quickly his attention locked onto every word Dr. Mehta said.

He had thought we’d lost the baby too.

I do not want to bring that fear back to him every time my brain decides to replay it.

So I keep the nightmares to myself.

Maybe that is stupid. Maybe I am deciding for him something he should get to decide on his own. I know exactly how annoyed I would be if he decided something was too difficult for me to hear and withheld it because he thought he was protecting me. I am fully aware of the hypocrisy.

I still cannot bring myself to tell him.

Instead, I sit here and deal with it until the panic fades. I remind myself of what is actually happening instead of what I dreamed. The baby is still here. I am still pregnant. The bleeding has not returned. The cramps have pretty much stopped.

Most importantly, Dr. Mehta has already shown us that things are improving.

My first follow-up appointment was two days ago, although calling it an appointment makes it sound much more normal than it actually was.

I had been looking forward to leaving the house.

That is how low my standards have fallen.

I knew the appointment was coming, and I had spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about the fact that I would get to put on real clothes, get in a car, and go somewhere that was not Diego’s bedroom, kitchen, terrace, or living room.

I was not planning anything reckless. I simply wanted to leave the property for an hour and experience civilization again.

Then Diego informed me that Dr. Mehta was coming here. And she was bringing the ultrasound machine with her.

People with money.

I shake my head just thinking about it.

I had stared at Diego when he told me as if it were completely normal. He had been completely unbothered by my reaction and pointed out that there was no reason for me to spend time in a car and a medical office if everything needed for the follow-up could come here instead.

The annoying part was that I could not even argue with the logic.

The much better part was the scan itself.

I can still see the screen if I close my eyes.

The baby was there, exactly where the baby was supposed to be, heartbeat strong and fast. Dr. Mehta measured everything carefully while Diego stood beside me with one hand wrapped around mine. I watched her face almost as much as I watched the screen, waiting for some subtle change that would tell me something was wrong before she said it.

There was no change.

The pregnancy was progressing normally.

The hematoma was smaller.