by Maree Green
Shock caused his eyebrows to rise. “Are they saying it could be born now?”
“Any time, really. I’ve had a couple of steroid shots to help the baby’s lungs develop, but the chance of survival is better if I can make it past twenty-eight weeks.”
“How far away is that?”
My shoulders sagged. “Five more weeks.”
“Shit.”
I agreed. It was very shit.
Trying to move on to something a little lighter in topic, I smiled. “Cheesecake would be good . . . ”
Chapter 52
Daniel
Deployed time: 22 weeks
MIA: 12 weeks
Amy, If I had paper and pen, the page would be blank. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know what I could possibly say to you to make things okay. I know they’re not. I try not to because it just hurts so fucking much, but I think about how you must be feeling every day. I’m so sorry, Princess. I’m so sorry I let you down. Please forgive me.
Daniel.
Early morning sunlight spilled across the room. Soft, white sheets soothed my resting body. Beside me, Amy slept soundly, her hair fanned out over the pillow behind her, colors of brown, copper, and mahogany illuminated by the light.
Behind my closed eyes, I watched her, wanting so desperately to reach out to her, to touch her silky skin, caress her soft curves. But I knew what would happen if I did. I would touch nothing, and my illusion would be shattered.
So I forced myself to lie still. To be content in just watching her, this image I’d managed to dredge up from my too-long-ago memories.
She stirred, her hand coming up to rest on the pillow beside her cheek, a tiny smile touching her full pink lips.
The image was a double-edged sword. It made my heart scream in pain, but it soothed it at the same time. It made me despair that I might not ever experience her like that again, but it gave me strength to keep surviving in the hell in which I was now living. It was pleasure, and it was pain.
I breathed it in, wishing it would be her scent that soaked into my senses instead of the dank depression that constantly attacked my sanity.
Voices murmured nearby. I pressed my eyes shut tighter, clinging to her image, panicking as I watched it flicker in and out like a poorly transmitted TV show.
The voices grew louder. Angry. Frustrated. Desperate.
She disappeared, slipping away from me yet again.
Sighing, I shifted onto my back and opened my eyes, staring up at the dirty concrete ceiling.
“Good while it lasted?”
I turned at the sound of Miguel’s voice, the Italian giving me a sad, knowing look in return. We’d been moved into the same cell about a week ago. “I’ll let you know when I figure that one out,” I said, pushing myself up to sit.
Rubbing my hand over my too-long hair, I tried to dispel the depression that lingered in my soul. I needed to move.
Struggling to my feet, I stretched my body, trying to ease the ache in my joints.
“I look forward to the day I can look up at my own sky again,” Miguel said, a dreamy smile spreading across his lips. “I dream of the blue, the sun, and the scattered clouds. I dream of the grass, green and fresh in the spring, running with Armino and Carina.”
Again, my heart clenched with pain, but this time for Miguel. He was a good guy. A journalist from Italy. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Back home in Calitri, he had a wife and two children, six and four. Like Amy was to me, they were his world.
“You’ll see them again,” I said, giving him a hard stare. I had to believe that. For the both of us.
Miguel simply nodded, uncertainty clear.
Dropping down onto my hands, I stretched my body out before getting started on my push-ups.
Shuffling to the side, Miguel watched as I put myself through my usual paces. I knew my need to stay active annoyed most of the other prisoners here, but Miguel understood. My mind was the only thing I had any control over, and for me, it was strong body, strong mind. It was all I could do.
As usual, Miguel stayed quiet as I went about my routine. When I was done with push-ups, I moved on to sit-ups, then burpees and jumping jacks. Box jumps weren’t an option anymore, seeing as there was nothing I could use as a box, so I settled for doing some squats instead.
I was almost finished completing my second set when the outer door swung open. The entire cell block stilled when five or six of our captors entered, rifles in hand. We all knew what that meant. They were either bringing someone in, or they were taking someone out.
When the last one entered and no new prisoner could be seen, I tensed, wondering who it was going to be this time.
In the month I’d been there, I’d heard murmurs from other prisoners that the trades were never good for us. I’d heard recounts from new prisoners that told of payments to extremists, torture, and executions.
Miguel struggled to his feet, alert and fearful.
The guards yelled a series of incomprehensible words, banging on the bars and swiping their hands in the air to tell us to move back.
My hands clenched into fists at my sides.
With hard eyes, I watched them move closer, my body growing more and more tense the closer they came. Then one raised his hand and pointed. Right at Miguel.
Panic exploded inside me. Not him. They couldn’t take him. He needed to make it home to his family.
The door was unlocked, and the first two guards raised their rifles, moving into the cell. Miguel started talking, his words no longer clear to me as he spoke in his native tongue. All I knew was that he sounded like he was pleading.
Instincts drove me to step forward. To protect him. The guards barked at me, thrusting their guns into my face. My reaction was automatic. Swiping my forearm through the air, I knocked the barrel sideways, away from me, while launching my body forward, pushing the both of them backwards.
Chaos ensued. The guards all started yelling at once, their bodies lurching forward, guns raised. Survival was my only thought. Lashing out, I knocked one to the ground with a right hook to his jaw, and took another one down with a hefty kick to the side of his knee. Two of the remaining guards pounced, one attempting to tackle me to the ground, while the other one slammed the butt of his gun down hard on my head.
The sting was enough to make me lose my grip on the head that was trying to throw me down, and I found myself suddenly being pitched backwards. Fast.
I hit the concrete hard, the wind escaping me in a painful whoosh. The room spun sickeningly, my sight blurring as I desperately tried to locate Miguel in the chaos. Foggily, I caught the slight swirl of his body being dragged across the room before I was hit with another blow to the head with the butt of a gun.
The world disappeared.
Chapter 53
Amy
Deployed time: 22 weeks
MIA: 12 weeks
From: Amy Benson [email protected]
To: Daniel Stephenson [email protected]
Date: Fri, September 9, 2016 at 2:56 PM
Subject: Long nights
Daniel,
Tomorrow, I’ll have made it another week with our baby on board. I’ll be 26 weeks! As hard as it’s been these past 5 weeks, I’m happy our baby has had the time to grow. Our countdown to make it past 28 weeks is getting so much closer I can’t help but feel so proud of him/her for hanging in there for us. Such a little fighter.
As much as I try not to think about it too much, I also can’t stop myself from counting down the time you should be coming home to us. It was 3 weeks yesterday. In my head you’re still coming. I pray every minute of every day for it to be true.
I love you more than my life. I’m still waiting. I will always wait for you.
Love Amy xxx
Settling back against the pillows, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the ache in my lower back. This had been the third night in a row for it to happen. I was fine during the day. No aches. No pain. Just mind
less time to pass. Then dinner would come, and so would the pain. Amber put it down to supernatural phenomenon, implying I was some kind of werewolf affected by the moon or something. I didn’t know what to attribute it to. Neither did the nurses, so it seemed.
“Here you go, sweetie,” my current nurse, Maisie, said, holding out a heat pack.
I leaned forward, allowing her to slide it in place.
She hummed a satisfied sound. “How are you feeling?”
I shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Tired.” Like, really tired. The last few nights had taken a toll on my body. Apparently, it didn’t like broken sleep too much. It was something it needed to get used to when the baby came, though.
Maisie gave me a kind smile. “Okay, well, I’ll leave you to rest. Call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you. I will.”
I watched her walk out before closing my eyes and trying to get some rest. If I was going to have the same kind of night like the last few, I was going to take whatever rest I could.
As was habit for me now, I said a silent prayer for Daniel, then let sleep take me.
It was close to midnight when I woke. In my dazed sleep-induced state, it took me a few seconds to realize what it was that had woken me. I was leaking. Of course, I’d been leaking for a while now, but this time felt different. Don’t ask me how. Call it intuition.
Pressing the button to call the nurse, I waited, nerves tingling. A minute later, she appeared, flashlight in hand. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” she said, concern etched on her face.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I think I need to see a doctor. I feel different.”
Shifting closer, she looked me over. “Different how?”
Frustration surged. “I don’t know. I just . . . I think something’s wrong.”
With eyes narrowed thoughtfully, she gave a little nod before patting my arm. “I’ll go call her.”
I remained sitting upright while I waited. I hated the uncertainty that surrounded me. With everything. My life was overflowing with it. I didn’t understand what I’d done to have so much chaos thrown at me. Was everything that was happening to me just a lesson to see how much shit I could handle at once before I fell apart?
My husband was missing in action, many presuming him dead. My baby’s life was on the line, hanging in the balance, its survival dependent on just how long I could manage to keep it in utero. My parents had washed their hands of me, deeming me unsatisfactory as a child. I felt isolated and alone, my newly found strength being pushed closer and closer to breaking point.
I was stronger than I used to think. That much I knew. But just how much more was I going to be able to take? How much was too much, and if I broke, who was going to catch me when I fell?
The flashlight appeared again, this time followed by a doctor I’d seen around but hadn’t met yet. Flicking on the bed light, he gave me a warm smile.
“Hi, Amy. I’m Dr. Donovan. I’m just going to have a look to see if we can work out what’s going on with your little one.”
I didn’t know why, but I suddenly felt very small and fragile. Nodding my consent, I leaned back on the bed. “Okay.”
While he busied himself with gloves and whatever else he needed, Maisie stripped my underwear off in readiness.
I tried to relax and disappear inside my head while I was prodded and poked, tuning out as much as I could. But I couldn’t escape the authoritative tone of his voice when he said, “She’s seven centimeters dilated. We need to get her over to the labor ward.”
My pulse jumped into a sprint, and my blood ran cold. Labor ward? I was in labor?
The pressure between my legs disappeared, and I heard the sound of the doctor’s gloves snapping off.
Maisie groaned, mumbling something under her breath that sounded like, I knew I should’ve gotten a doctor to look at her sooner . . .
My head was spinning. I wasn’t prepared for this. Why the hell wasn’t I prepared for this? I’d been in the hospital for almost six weeks! I’d been so focused on just making the twenty-eight-week mark, I hadn’t wanted to consider any other possibility.
My bed started to move, my chart tossed onto the space beside my feet. “Can it be stopped?” I asked, searching the doctor’s face for answers. “Can the labor be stopped?”
We were out in the corridors now, and we were moving fast. It scared me. Not the movement, but the urgency.
“Unfortunately, not when you’re dilated like you are,” Dr. Donovan said. “The baby is coming and because he’s so small, he will most likely come quick.”
“Do you have anyone you’d like us to call to come be with you?” Maisie asked, sounding a little breathless as she moved.
My mind raced. Daniel was the only one I wanted with me right now. I was terrified beyond belief. “My friend, Amber. Can you call her, please?”
We reached the end of the corridor, Maisie now sounding like she was seriously struggling to breathe. The doctor gave her a sideways glance.
“Asthma,” she said, reaching into her pocket for her inhaler.
The bed stopped, and we were suddenly surrounded by a team of medical staff. I heard Maisie wish me well just as the bed started moving again.
A tiny dark-haired nurse placed her hand on my wrist as we moved. “Hi, Amy. Dr. Anderson should be here any minute. Until then, we’re just going to get you comfortable and see how baby is doing. Okay?”
I nodded, my mouth too dry to work.
They wheeled me into a room with walls painted a soft mint green. I guessed it was supposed to feel calming, but I was too far gone to feel any calmness at all. I was a nervous wreck.
In record time, I was hooked up to a machine that monitored my vitals, as well as the baby’s. Trays and monitors were set up with instruments I couldn’t even begin to try to describe, and beyond the door, there was a whole other team of staff working around a tiny crib, tubes and monitors going everywhere.
The door opened, and Dr. Anderson rushed in, her gaze immediately finding mine amidst the chaos. Despite her rush, her body language was calm and reassuring. She gave me a kind look and squeezed my hand. “How are you doing, Amy?”
I swallowed. “Scared.”
She nodded her understanding. “I’m going to do everything I can to give baby the best chance at life, okay?”
My lip quivered. “Okay,” I whispered.
“I’m just going to put your feet in the stirrups while I see what’s going on.” Moving to the end of the bed, she lifted my feet, one at a time. “How’s the pain?”
“Like the last few nights, but worse. Mostly in my lower back.”
She nodded and reached for an instrument off the tray, only to pause when the door opened again.
My strength crumbled a little more when I saw Amber’s face peering in. She straightened and closed the door behind her, striding toward the bed with narrowed eyes. “Why’s Peanut in such a freaking rush?” she asked, before lowering herself to wrap her arms around me.
I laughed, mostly from relief than anything else, and clutched her tighter.
“Amber,” Dr. Anderson said in greeting. “Good to see you.”
Amber straightened and gave her a crisp nod. It was all business. As Dr. Anderson went about her business, Amber held my hand and made it her mission to remind me how strong I was. I wasn’t sure I agreed with her, but I knew I needed to try. For the baby.
“Okay, Amy,” Dr. Anderson said, coming to stand beside me. “You’re currently eight centimeters dilated. The discomfort you’ve been feeling are contractions. Normally, this wouldn’t be enough to birth, but considering your baby is still so small, it will be.”
I knew it was futile, but I still needed to ask. “Is there no way to stop it?”
The look she gave me was pure defeat. “It’s just too risky. As you know, your little one is breech. The longer she stays like that, the more distressed she can become. We need to get her out as fast as we can in the gentlest way possible. I’m hopeful
the four steroid shots you’ve been given were enough to give her a good fighting chance.”
Amber squeezed my hand. I nodded. This was it. I was about to become a mother.
“Okay, Amy. When I say it’s time, I need you to push, okay?”
Shit. “Okay.”