cinema [h.s.]

chapter forty eight.

⚠️TW: mentions of pregnancy complications, anxiety, depression, cyberchondria (self diagnosing) and medical issues. 

May 21, 2021.

"No daddy, I don't want that one!" Ivy whines, kicking her feet. I sigh and run a hand over my face, tossing the shirt in my hands to the side.

These past two weeks have been so hard on me mentally. With everything going on between Rory and I, her health and the baby, I've been so stressed.

Ivy can sense there's something going on and she's been acting out because of it. All I get from her is attitude. She acts as if everything is my fault and I don't know what to do anymore.

I'm beyond overwhelmed and Rory's just been making it worse. Ever since the doctor put her on bed rest, she's been extremely hormonal.

She barely speaks to me and when she does, nine times out of ten it's to bite my head off for something I've done wrong.

I've lost cost of the amount of times she's snapped at me for breathing too loud. I know she's stressed, and I know she's ready to be off bedrest, but I'm tired of being the house punching bag.

"What about this one?" I lift up another shirt and Ivy tilts her head, scanning over the shirt.

"I don't like that one either." She says. I roll my lips into a fine line, tossing that shirt into the pile with the others.

"Ivy, you're going to be late. Just please, pick a shirt." I say. Ivy huffs and hops off her bed, stomping over to her dresser.

She rummages through her drawers before finally picking out a white shirt with flowers on it. "I want to wear this one."

I sigh in relief, helping her put on her shirt along with her shoes. I grab a grayish blue cardigan for her to layer over the shirt seeing as it's a bit windy.

I toss her pajamas into her dirty clothes hamper and hear a subtle thump come from Rory and I's bedroom. I furrow my brows and hand Ivy her bag, "Go wait for me in the living room, bug. I need to go check on mumma."

Ivy nods and walks out of the room. I head towards Rory and I's bedroom, peaking my head into the room. Initially, I don't see Rory, but then out of the corner of my eye, I see movement in our walk in closet and know she's in there.

I look in our walk in closet and see Rory on her tippy toes, trying to grab a shoe box off the top shelf. Her doctor gave her the all clear to resume normal activities at our last check up two days ago. She's just not allowed to do any heavy lifting or raise her arms above her head.