The Ex-Husband of Alice Langley

17

ALICE LANGLEY
I wake up again in the middle of the night, the strong pressure running down my back pulling me from the depths of sleep. The snow outside is still thick and coming down quickly. I push myself off the bed, feeling the familiar heaviness of my body, and start to walk around the dimly lit room, hoping to relieve the discomfort.

"I know it's not labor," I remind myself, trying to keep my mind calm. "I'm not due for two more weeks." But the pressure feels relentless, and I'm honestly having a lot of trouble sleeping. This is my fifth time waking up tonight.

Sighing, I turn on the TV, searching for a distraction. The soft glow of the screen casts shadows on the walls, and I fumble for my phone to check the time. "God, what time is it?" I mumble to myself, squinting at the bright display. It's almost three in the morning.

I sit down in bed again, the comforter heavy against my legs, but another wave of pressure strikes me, sharp and demanding, then fades just as quickly. I close my eyes, focusing on my breathing, trying to find a sense of calm amidst the discomfort.

Maybe I'll just watch a few minutes of this show and see if I can drift off again. The characters on screen chatter animatedly, their lives so different from mine right now. I can't help but feel a pang of envy. As the plot unfolds, my mind begins to wander.

"Just breathe," I whisper to myself, attempting to ease the tension in my back. I shift slightly, hoping to find a more comfortable position. The warmth of the blankets envelops me, a small comfort in the quiet of the night. I can hear the soft hum of the TV, a reminder that I'm not alone, even in this stillness.

About 30 minutes later, the pressure in my back returns, this time more pronounced, more demanding. I start to take it more seriously. "It's just Braxton Hicks probably," I remind myself. "I'm only 38 weeks." But the discomfort has a way of creeping into my thoughts, urging me to be cautious.

Let me still ask Paris. She's a doctor!

I turn on the light, the soft glow spilling into the hallway, illuminating the path to her room. I make my way down the hall, each step echoing in the quiet apartment. As I reach her door, I can see her silhouette under the covers, completely at peace in her slumber.

"Paris," I whisper, gently tapping on the doorframe. There's no response. I open the door slightly, peeking in. The sight of her sleeping face brings a wave of comfort, but the ache in my back pushes me to wake her.

"Paris," I say a bit louder this time, moving closer. "Hey, wake up."

"Holy mother of fuck!" She scrambles and throws the sheets off of her and tumbles off her bed. "Who's in here?!" I turn on the light and she's holding a plastic hanger like it's some kind of weapon.

"Damn woman! It's just Alice!" I say, holding up my hands in a placating gesture as she fumbles to regain her balance. The room is flooded with light, and I can't help but chuckle at the sight of her disheveled hair and wide eyes.

"God, you scared the hell out of me!" she breathes, lowering the hanger as she glances around, still trying to shake off the adrenaline. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"I just wanted to ask you something," I say, stepping closer to her now that she seems a little more grounded. "I've been feeling this pressure in my back. It's pretty uncomfortable, and I'm wondering if it's normal or if I should be worried."

"Pressure? Like... contraction pressure?" Paris asks, rubbing her eyes and pulling her hair into a messy bun.

"Not exactly like contractions, more like a tightening," I explain, trying to suppress my discomfort. "I've been up for a while now, and I figured I should check in with you. You know, since you're the doctor and all."