Pretty Little Promises

Ch. 23: The Broken Cage

QUINTON

My eyes glaze over, red and bloodshot as I attempt to focus on the plethora of medical journal articles sprawled across my desk. She's made up her mind, and it's her decision to make. I understand that. I accept that. But, Christ, the risks are so high. Every time she coughs, every time she fucking sneezes, my heart drops to the pit of my stomach with fear. It's been four weeks. Four weeks and the worry doesn't fade, it doesn't vanish, only grows. We're past the first trimester now. I should be able to relax. I should channel Damon's confidence, Damon's joy. But I can't.

Guilt washes over me as a knock sounds from my office door, and Gretchen pocks her head in, clearing her throat. "Dr Marquis?"

I tilt my weary head up, sighing. "Yes?"

"Miss Jones is here to see you. Apparently you have a lunch date?"

I check the clock. It's already 1 p.m. I've let the day get away from me again. I stir in the chair, inwardly wincing. I should've gone home last night. But I couldn't. There are too many studies to read. There are too many proposals for treatment plans, care plans. Preventative measure proposals. So many theories. So many hypotheses. I won't let her be a guinea pig. But the options... they're limited. Wait and hope. That's all we can do.

"You can tell her I'll be right out," I say, standing up and stretching.

Before Gretchen can respond, Emery appears in the doorway, ducking around my receptionist. "Thanks, Gretchen," she says, subtly nodding for her to depart. Gretchen scurries away, and Emery shuts the door behind her as she stands before me, arms crossed, expression sympathetic. She shakes her head, sighing as she gives a slow, pitiful once over. "When's the last you slept, Quin?"

I clear my throat. "I took a nap earlier."

She narrows her eyes. "Don't lie to me, Quin. I'm bloated, emotional, and hungry."

I expel a deep breath, my body visibly shrinking under her scrutiny. "Fine. Maybe a day ago. But I don't need—"

She drops her arms, flapping them to her side. "Quinton, I'm okay." Her tone is fierce, confident in its resolve. She spins around. "See?" I avert my gaze, my gut twisting with hunger and dread. She raises her voice, "Look at me, Quin. Look at me." And then she's by my side, hands cupping my cheeks, tender and desperate. "Look at me!" Tears prick at the corner of my eyes as I force myself to meet her determined stare. "I'm fine, Quin. I feel fine. My tests are normal. Everything is—"

I've tried to be strong for her. I've tried to keep my fears and emotions locked up, caged behind ironclad bars. I forced down my opinions, my thoughts, and the terror I feel every time I look at her, every time I hold her, knowing that one day, she could slip away from me. Knowing that one day, she can turn to dust in my grasp.

It's been four weeks, and I'm on the precipice of being released. The sentence was too short. I can't leave now. I don't want to leave now. But the bars are rusting. The cage is falling apart, screws and nuts and hinges disintegrating into a puddle of my deepest worries.

And then, when she whispers that she loves me, the cage breaks, and I crumble with it.

"I'm so scared." Hot, uncontrollable tears roll down my face, my shoulders shaking, my breaths shallow and strained. I hold her, my arms wrapped around her growing body, hoping that my embrace will shield her from chance, from statistics, from harm. "I can't lose you, Emery. I can't lose you. I can't—"

"You won't, baby." Her soft fingers thread the back of my hair as she smoothes me with hushed whispers, my forehead resting on the slope of her neck. My tears stain her jacket, soaking through the thick fabric. "I'm right here, Quin. Right here. I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you. I promise I won't leave you."