Chapter 2 - Six Days Before the Door Closed.
Six days earlier, Leah had awakened at three in the morning with both hands wrapped protectively around her pregnant belly.
She had been dreaming about a river.
In the dream, Nathan stood on the riverbank holding their newborn son.
Doreen stood nearby beneath a white umbrella, perfectly dry while black clouds gathered over the water.
Leah called Nathan’s name.
He turned and smiled.
Then the river surged.
The baby slipped from his arms.
Leah screamed.
Nathan did not move.
Neither did Doreen.
Leah ran toward them, but every step seemed to stretch the ground farther beneath her feet.
The river remained impossibly distant.
Her baby kept falling.
She woke before he touched the water.
For several terrifying seconds, Leah did not know where she was.
Then the shadows of the bedroom slowly became familiar.
Their apartment in Columbus.
The dresser Nathan had assembled crookedly when they first moved in.
The framed ultrasound picture on the nightstand.
The laundry chair that neither of them admitted was a laundry chair.
Nathan slept beside her with one arm under his pillow.
Then the baby kicked.
Leah pressed her palm to her stomach.
“You’re okay.”
Another small movement answered her.
“Mommy’s right here.”
She sat there until her breathing slowed.
Two weeks remained before her scheduled delivery.
The nursery was almost finished.
One shelf still needed to be installed.
A cardboard box containing a wooden mobile shaped like clouds and stars still sat unopened beside the crib.
Nathan had promised to handle both things.
Three times.
Leah climbed out of bed and walked into the nursery.
She lowered herself into the rocking chair beneath the faint glow of a star-shaped night-light.
Twenty minutes later, Nathan appeared in the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
His irritation reached her before his concern.
Leah looked at him.
“I had a nightmare.”
Nathan rubbed both hands over his face.
“At three in the morning?”
“I didn’t exactly put it on the calendar.”
He leaned against the doorframe.
“What happened?”
Leah looked down at her stomach.
“I lost the baby.”
Nathan’s face softened for a moment.
He stepped into the room and placed one hand on her shoulder.
“It was a dream.”
“It didn’t feel like one.”
“You’ve been anxious for months.”
Then came the sentence Leah had started hearing too often.
“Mom says pregnancy hormones can make people imagine terrible things.”
Leah’s jaw tightened.
“Your mother has an opinion about everything.”
Nathan’s hand immediately left her shoulder.
“She raised three children.”
Leah looked at him.
“She raised one child.”
His expression changed.
“Leah.”
“Your sisters were sent to boarding school after your father died.”
“That is not what happened.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
Nathan stepped back.
“I’m not arguing about my mother before sunrise.”
“I wasn’t asking you to argue.”
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn everything she says into a threat.”
Leah stared at him.
“She picked my obstetrician.”
“Because she knows good doctors.”
“She picked the hospital.”
“Because she helped fund the maternity wing.”
“She changed the baby shower venue without asking me.”
“The original place was too small.”
“She ordered a second crib for her house.”
Nathan sighed.
“Grandmothers do that.”
“She told your cousin I would probably need help making medical decisions after delivery.”
Nathan looked away.
That was the first moment Leah noticed it.
Not disagreement.
Not annoyance.
Avoidance.
“What?”
Nathan frowned.
“What what?”
“You looked away.”
“I’m tired.”
“Did she say something to you?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Leah watched him for another second.
Nathan turned toward the bedroom.
“Come back to bed when you’re ready.”
He left her alone beneath the night-light.
At nine that morning, Leah arrived at Silver Birch Women’s Center for a routine appointment.
The clinic had been Doreen’s choice.
Dr. Celia Rusk had delivered several babies in Doreen’s social circle and had once sat beside her at a hospital fundraising dinner.
Doreen called that reassuring.
Leah called it too close for comfort.
During the ultrasound, Dr. Rusk studied the screen longer than usual.
Leah immediately became nervous.
“Is something wrong?”
Dr. Rusk turned slightly.
“You have a low-lying placenta.”
Leah tightened her fingers around the edge of the examination table.
“Is that dangerous?”
“It is not completely covering the cervix, but I do not want to take unnecessary chances.”
Dr. Rusk removed one glove.
“I recommend admitting you to Briar Glen Maternity Pavilion for observation.”
Leah blinked.
“Admitting me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Today.”
Leah thought about the unfinished nursery.
The mobile.
The hospital bag that still needed a charger and clean socks.
“Can I go home first?”
“You can collect what you need.”
Dr. Rusk smiled faintly.
“But don’t delay.”
Then she added something that stayed with Leah.
“Doreen will feel much better knowing you’re being monitored.”
Not Nathan.
Doreen.
Leah forced a polite smile.
“I’m sure she will.”
When Leah returned home, Doreen’s black SUV was already parked outside the building.
Leah stopped on the sidewalk.
She had not called her.
Nathan stood in the apartment kitchen with Doreen when Leah entered.
Doreen wore a cream wool coat even though she had apparently been inside for several minutes.
Her blonde hair was immaculate.
A leather folder rested on the counter.
Doreen turned.
“There she is.”
Leah looked at Nathan.
“You called her?”
Nathan shrugged.
“She should know.”
Doreen crossed the room and placed both hands on Leah’s shoulders.
“This is exactly why I told Celia to watch you carefully.”
Leah pulled back slightly.
“Dr. Rusk found a physical issue, Doreen.”
“Stress affects the body.”
Leah looked at Nathan.
He pretended to inspect the hospital bag.
Doreen opened the leather folder.
“I had some paperwork prepared.”
Leah stared at the pages.
“What paperwork?”
“Just practical things.”
Doreen slid the top sheet forward.
Temporary Family Care Authorization.
Leah read the first paragraph.
The document allowed a named family member to make limited decisions for the newborn if Leah became temporarily unavailable following delivery.
Leah looked up.
“Why would I sign this?”
Doreen’s smile did not change.
“In case there is a complication.”
“Nathan is the baby’s father.”
“Of course.”
“Then why is your name on the second line?”
Doreen glanced down as if she had forgotten.
“That is only a backup.”
Leah pushed the document away.
“No.”
Nathan finally looked up.
“Leah, it’s just paperwork.”
“Then you sign something giving my mother authority over our child.”
Nathan frowned.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Doreen closed the folder with deliberate calm.
“We do not need to make this emotional.”
Leah almost laughed.
“You brought guardianship paperwork into my kitchen before I even packed for the hospital.”
“It is not guardianship paperwork.”
“Then stop acting like I’m already gone.”
Silence filled the kitchen.
For the first time, Doreen’s smile disappeared.
Only for a second.
But Leah saw it.
Then Doreen picked up the folder.
“We can revisit this when you are less tired.”
“No.”
Doreen looked at her.
“We are not revisiting it.”
Nathan stepped between them verbally, not physically.
“Can everyone just calm down?”
Leah stared at him.
“I am calm.”
Doreen gave Nathan a look Leah could not read.
Then she walked toward the door.
“I’ll meet you at Briar Glen.”
Leah waited until the door closed.
Then she turned to Nathan.
“You told her before you told me you were coming with me.”
Nathan looked exhausted.
“I am coming with you.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He zipped the hospital bag.
“Why does everything have to become a test with you?”
Leah stared at him.
“Because lately I keep failing tests I didn’t know I was taking.”
By noon, Leah had been admitted to Briar Glen.
Her room contained four beds, but only one other was occupied.
The woman near the window looked more like a guest at a private resort than a hospital patient.
Her dark hair had been styled into perfect curls.
A cream silk robe covered her pregnant stomach.
Three expensive skin-care bottles stood neatly beside her bed.
When Leah entered carrying a canvas overnight bag, the woman glanced at it.
Then at Leah.
“Take any bed except this one.”
Leah raised an eyebrow.
“I wasn’t planning to climb into yours.”
The woman’s lips curved faintly.
“Good.”
She adjusted a pillow behind her back.
“I’m Simone.”
“Leah.”
Simone was eight months pregnant and spoke about pregnancy with the emotional distance of someone describing inconvenient weather.
Too warm.
Too swollen.
Too many appointments.
Too temporary to justify changing her life around it.
Most of the afternoon, she took carefully angled photographs of herself by the window.
None showed her stomach.
Whenever her phone rang, her entire personality changed.
Her voice became warmer.
Softer.
Almost playful.
“No, darling,” Simone said during one call.
“The wellness retreat is wonderful.”
Leah glanced over.
Simone continued.
“Yes, absolutely.”
A pause.
“I’ll be home soon.”
She ended the call.
Leah stared at her.
“Wellness retreat?”
Simone slowly lowered the phone.
For the first time, her confidence disappeared.
“People don’t need every detail of my life.”
Leah nodded.
“Fair enough.”
An hour later, Doreen arrived carrying flowers, a charger Leah had not asked for, and the same leather folder.
Nathan followed several steps behind her.
Simone watched them enter.
Doreen placed the flowers on the windowsill.
Then she placed the folder on Leah’s bedside table.
Leah stared at it.
“I already said no.”
Doreen smiled at the nurse checking Leah’s blood pressure.
“She’s had a stressful morning.”
Leah looked at the nurse.
“I’m fine.”
Doreen touched Leah’s arm.
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
The nurse wrote something on the chart.
Leah noticed.
So did Simone.
Later that evening, after Nathan and Doreen left, Leah returned from the bathroom and found a folded tissue on her pillow.
She opened it.
Four words had been written across it in black eyeliner.
DON’T SIGN HER PAPERS.
Leah turned toward Simone.
Simone was lying with her back to the room.
“Did you write this?”
Simone did not turn around.
“Go to sleep, Leah.”
Leah looked at the warning again.
“What did you hear?”
Simone remained silent for several seconds.
May you like
Then she spoke toward the window.
“Enough to know your mother-in-law is not here because she likes hospital flowers.”
