Sage

70

Ellie.

Harry means well with his words of encouragement, but I wish he'd stop.

His hand is on my forearm as the nurse wheels me down the sterile halls of the hospital, moving so fast that I can barely focus on my surroundings; they're simply a blur of scrubs, the beeping of EKG machines, and the hum of conversation. Harry follows closely next to her, nearly tripping on his two feet while Jenny snaps at the few paparazzi to have some fucking respect as her short legs follow on the other side of me. Her long curls are tied into a bun, a few strands framing her face as her face twists into a disgusted snarl. We're all soaking wet from the pouring evening rain outside, their shoes squeaking against the floor.

Despite Jenny's distaste for the people, she's practically jumping on the balls of her feet in excitement, leaning down to squeeze my shoulder with an enthusiastic squeal that makes me cringe and, it's hardly because of the inhuman pitch.

I'm on edge for other reasons.

Flashes of the package I'd opened just an hour ago crossed my mind, making me briefly lose my concentration and blow out a breath in a feeble attempt to get it back. I can only focus on one thing at a time, and that will have to be working through these contractions, not the fact that there's a good chance Harry killed my ex-boyfriend. That can wait.

The entire ride from his office to the hospital, I haven't spoken a word to him. Instead, I've been hiding behind the contradictions and pain, using them as an excuse to ignore him. Jenny knows something is up, though. She's been watching my subtle reactions to him placing his hand on my leg or the slight wince whenever he kisses my wet forehead, and I know she's dying to ask about it.

"You're doing so good, momma. I'm so fucking proud," Harry praises in his gravelly yet panicking accent. While the pet name would have calmed me, it only makes me sick to my stomach. He doesn't know I know. And honestly, how can I tell him?

I don't want to believe that Harry's capable of murder. I don't want my brain to vividly try to recreate what must have happened when he and Danny were left alone together. If I could claw it out of my mind I would. I just wish I could go back to a few hours ago when we were good and I didn't get an unsettling feeling in my stomach whenever he so much as looked at me. One part of me wants to know exactly what happened, but the other part wants to continue my blissful ignorance.

I ignore it, though. I need to focus on breathing through my contractions. There's already enough on my mind.

I don't have my labor bag, meaning I'll be stuck with a rock-hard mattress and no hair products for the next few days. We left the baby's welcome home outfit and I didn't get a chance to finish the laundry. Plus, all of my confidence in the baby's sex is out the window. I have no idea what we're having and we have yet to pick a name.

Sure Harry is likely a murderer, but I wanted to know if Aaliyah was still off the table.

Why am I worried about that?

"Mhm," is all I can hum back. I tell myself to focus on the baby but it doesn't help, my mind travels to the food I neglected to clean out of the fridge.

Jenny glances back and forth between Harry and me, her lips parting to say something but I interrupt her with a subtle clear of my throat. Her eyes flicker to me at the noise and she squints them, making me shake my head a little.

The last thing I need is for her to say something to make Harry think I'm upset with him because he won't drop it, and I'm not sure I'm ready to have that conversation right now, anyway. I need to get this fucking baby out of me. I need to breathe.

She sighs softly, and I know she only plans to implore the second he's away from us.

We continue to wheel down the halls. I see a few phones up as people recognize Harry, but I try my best to ignore them, especially since he and Jenny are taking turns cursing at them to put them away. I wrap the warm blanket around my body with one hand, the other being cupped under my belly as I try to think of the last time my mother and I spoke. I know we've had our differences but should I text her? Shit, where is my phone?