Leah Mitchell isn't the same shy, poor girl anymore. Now a college student, she is enjoying her life in the city and the freedom she longed for. She works hard and knows her worth. She has it all, but her heart aches for the only person from her pas...
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"Princess."
Soft lips place kisses on my cheek. Brian brushes my hair aside, and I open my eyes.
"What time is it?" I say, my voice groggy.
"Almost eight. I gotta go, babe. Will you be okay?"
"I think so."
"If you notice something weird, call me, okay?"
"Don't worry." I kiss Brian's jaw. "Harper said everything was the same. I just have to rest and wait. Plus, the girls will stop by. I will be entertained."
"Stay in bed, Kitten. I mean it."
I push Brian away lightly. "Go. Focus on your classes."
Brian ruffles my hair and pecks my lips once more. As soon as the door behind him closes, I burst into tears, burying my face in my pillow.
I can cry in front of him, but he worries, and I don't have to be a genius to know he hardly sleeps. We came home from the hospital four days ago. It's Tuesday, and although the latest ultrasound showed no changes, there are no improvements yet.
My morning sickness doesn't happen only in the morning. I puke way more than I eat or drink, and the stress from not knowing what's going to happen kills the little appetite I have.
Then there's my lost internship and the fact my parents know nothing yet. What they say or think won't change a thing, but their possible judgment scares me.
I sit on the edge of the bed and rub my stomach. It growls, and even before I put my feet on the rug, a wave of nausea hits me. I clamp my hand over my mouth and dart to the bathroom.
It's the same neverending cycle— I throw up, shower, and drag my feet to the kitchen. Brian left my breakfast on the table, but just looking at the food makes me queasy.
I return to bed and get under the comforter, pulling it over my head. My phone buzzes with a text. As I unlock it, I see it's from Mom. Of all days, she unknowingly chose today to suggest we have lunch together.
Even though it's too early to know if the baby will be okay, I text her why I can't leave the apartment and bite my lip when she tells me she's coming over.
***
I would pace the length of the room if I could. Since I can't, I stay in bed after brushing my hair, waiting for the doorbell to ring.
The shrill buzz takes me by surprise, regardless. I pad to the front door and let my mom in.
She looks good. Her hair is straightened, and the dress she's wearing is new. I'm a hot mess in my fluffy PJs and warm socks, but my exhaustion makes it hard to care.
"Hey," I say. "Come in."
Mom kisses my cheek and takes a step forward. Her eyes roam the hall, and I point a hand toward the living room.
