After her daughter’s funeral, Lauren’s mother opened up divorce proceedings against Conrad, and he didn’t contest. No doubt, he’s after a new, young bride to provide him with a worthy heir. Too bad he didn’t leave her for Cassidy to begin with. It’s funny how things work out and how some people throw away what they end up searching for.
I know all I want for Christmas is the sterilization of Conrad Price, but I don’t see that happening any time soon.
I’m just sick of living in fear. I can’t wait to resume a normal life again. Eric already said that he doesn’t want to return to the cabin, and deep down, I really don’t either. It always seemed to be Cassidy’s house, and now it’s just too haunted for us to even think about going back there. Eric already has it up on the market, hoping for a buyer. In the meantime, he took Will and Shep and they all moved in with his parents. And I have to admit that, although it’s not the ideal situation, I will be needing a lot of help once I leave the hospital, and I’m glad that I’ll have Eric’s mom to depend on. She’s been wonderful so far.
And bunking in Eric’s childhood room will be a trip. In order to help ease the transition, he brought the crib he’d made to the hospital to show me before setting it up over there, and I absolutely loved it. He did such a good job hand-carving every inch of it. I always knew he was good with his hands, but what he made is truly a work of art. I’ll cherish it forever. It makes me tear up just thinking about it.
But Eric’s been running himself ragged, carting all of our stuff from the cabin to his parents’ house, and putting the rest in storage until we can find a new place. On top of that, he’s been working crazy hours at the garden center and spending every spare moment he can with me. He’s wearing himself down, but there’s no arguing with him. I think if he stopped, his worries would consume him, so he just keeps going.
I only wish I could do the same instead of being stuck in this darn room connected to all of these wires. I know the longer the baby stays inside of me, the better, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I thought being on bed rest at home was bad, but being confined to a hospital bed totally sucks.
I think of the Christmas tree I set up that we didn’t even get to enjoy and of the little red baby stocking I hid under our bed that I was going to hang from the fireplace. I dreamed of spending our first Christmas together in the cabin, but now it’s not going to happen because I’m spending it in the hospital.
I gaze sorrowfully out the window. It’s starting to get dark already and it’s not even five o’clock. I heard some of the nurses humming along to the piped-in Christmas carols playing in the hallway of the neonatal intensive care unit. There’s not as many on duty tonight, no doubt because most of them want to spend the holiday with their families. I don’t blame them. I would, too. I’m just glad Wanda’s working the three-to-eleven shift. She promised to bring me some of her homemade Christmas cookies when my dinner tray arrives from the cafeteria. At least I’ll have something appetizing to eat until Eric brings over some of his mom’s leftovers later on. He deserves to sit down to at least one decent meal after closing up late and dealing with all of the last-minute shoppers. He plans on spending all day tomorrow with me, and the meatloaf that’s on the menu doesn’t sound too appetizing.
I’m trying not to feel sorry for myself when I hear a sudden pop and feel the flow of something wet between my legs.
No, no, no…
My fingers immediately scramble for the call button as I try to control my breathing. I’m afraid to lower the blanket. If I’m bleeding out, it means the placenta finally severed, and truthfully, I’d rather not know because it means my baby’s oxygen supply has been cut off. All I can envision is it drowning, struggling to breathe through the amniotic fluid when there’s absolutely nothing I can do except hit a damn call button.
This is it. One way or another, something big is about to happen. I can feel it.
Wanda comes in, looking concerned when she sees the pained expression on my face. “Honey child, what is it?”
“I feel…all…wet,” I stutter incoherently.
Wanda launches into action, not wasting a moment. She starts untucking the bedding to get a better look.
“Your water broke!” she exclaims, taken aback.
“Is that bad?” I croak, bending my knees so she can examine me.
“It’s better than the alternative,” she declares, whipping her cell phone out of the pocket of her Rudolph scrubs. She presses a button, speed-dialing someone, as she takes a deep breath. “Dr. P., Ivy is going into labor. How fast can you get back here?” she asks, glancing over my head as she consults with him, relaying my vitals.