Chương 5
I handed the phone to Evan.
“Put it somewhere I can’t see it.”
He placed it face down on the windowsill.
The social worker asked whether I wanted security to restrict visitors.
“Yes.”
“Specific names?”
“My mother.”
“My father.”
I hesitated.
Then I said, “My sister too.”
Evan looked at me.
Not because he disagreed.
Because he knew what it cost me to say it.
The social worker wrote the names down.
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
She stood.
“I’ll notify the unit.”
After she left, I stared at the ceiling.
The room smelled faintly of disinfectant and the chicken broth from someone’s dinner tray down the hall.
I had not eaten since noon.
My baby shower cookie was still probably dissolving beside the pool.
Evan sat down again.
“You want me to get you something?”
“Can I eat?”
“I don’t know.”
He stood immediately.
“I’ll ask.”
“Evan.”
He stopped at the door.
“Yeah?”
“Come here.”
He returned.
I took his hand.
“I’m scared.”
His face changed.
Until then, he had been performing competence.
Questions.
Water.
Nurses.
Phones.
Tasks.
Now his shoulders sagged.
“Me too.”
I swallowed.
“What if she comes tonight?”
He knew I meant the baby.
“Then she comes tonight.”
“She’s not ready.”
“No.”
“She’s supposed to have six more weeks.”
“I know.”
“I haven’t washed the sheets.”
A strange little laugh escaped him.
“The sheets?”
“The bassinet sheets.”
“Savannah.”
“They’re still in the package.”
He sat beside me.
“We can wash sheets.”
“I didn’t install the car seat.”
“You said you wanted to read the manual first.”
“I’ll read it.”
“You hate manuals.”
“I’ll become a manual person.”
My eyes filled again.
“I don’t want her first days to be in a plastic box.”
He rubbed his thumb across my knuckles.
“I don’t either.”
The monitor kept tracing the heartbeat.
Fast.
Steady.
Real.
Dr. Patel returned with the ultrasound results.
She closed the door behind her.
“The placenta looks reassuring.”
I exhaled.
“But your membranes have ruptured.”
The relief disappeared.
“So my water did break.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m still contracting.”
“Yes.”
She pulled the stool closer.
“We’re going to admit you.”
“For how long?”
“At this point, we’re preparing for the possibility that you may deliver.”
“When?”
“I can’t give you an exact time.”
She looked at the monitor.
“You’re not in active labor yet, but with ruptured membranes and regular contractions, things can change.”
Evan asked, “Can you stop it?”
“We don’t always try to stop labor at this gestational age, especially after membranes rupture.”
I watched her mouth move through explanations about infection risk, monitoring, antibiotics, fetal status, and neonatology.
Each sentence felt both precise and impossible.
Finally, I asked the only question I cared about.
“If she’s born tonight, what happens?”
“A neonatal team will be present.”
“And then?”
“They’ll assess her breathing and temperature control.”
“Will I get to hold her?”
Dr. Patel paused.
“Maybe.”
That hurt more than I expected.
I nodded as though she had told me something ordinary.
“Okay.”
She rested one hand on the bedrail.
“Savannah, I also want to ask about the fall itself.”
“All right.”
“Did you hit your abdomen?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Your head?”
“No.”
“Any dizziness?”
“My cheek hurts.”
“We can address that.”
She studied me for a moment.
“Has your mother ever hit you before?”
The question made Evan look up.
“No.”
I answered too quickly.
Dr. Patel waited.
I stared at the blanket.
“She grabbed me once.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How?”
“By the arm.”
“Hard enough to injure you?”
“No.”
I hesitated.
“Hard enough to leave fingerprints.”
Evan turned toward me.
“You never told me that.”
“It was before you.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
He leaned back in his chair.
A small distance opened between us.
Not anger exactly.
Something more uncomfortable.
The discovery that the person you love has edited their own history before handing it to you.
Dr. Patel did not push.
“I’m asking because violence during pregnancy raises safety concerns, and escalation matters.”
“She’s never done this before.”
“She did today.”
I looked at her.
There was no accusation in her voice.
That made it harder to dismiss.
After she left, Evan rubbed both hands over his face.
“When did Patricia grab you?”
“I was nineteen.”
“What happened?”
“Brianna wrecked Dad’s car.”
He stared.
“And your mother grabbed you?”
“I had taken the keys away from Brianna earlier because she’d been drinking.”
“That makes even less sense.”
“Brianna stole them back.”
“And?”
“Mom blamed me for not hiding them better.”
Evan stared at the floor.
“That’s insane.”
“At the time, it seemed normal.”
“How?”
I looked at him.
He immediately shook his head.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
“You don’t have to explain it.”
“I think I do.”
The words came slowly.
“When something happens enough, you stop measuring it against normal people.”
He looked at me.
“You measure it against yesterday.”
Neither of us said anything after that.
A nurse brought me a cup of ice chips and told me not to eat yet.
I crunched one and immediately regretted it because the cold hurt a molar.
Evan watched me wince.
“Dental office manager.”
“Shut up.”
He almost smiled.
Then a knock sounded at the door.
Both of us froze.
A uniformed police officer stepped inside with another officer behind him.
The first introduced himself as Officer Lewis.
The second, Officer Grant.
Lewis was probably in his fifties, with gray at his temples and the cautious tone of someone who spent his days meeting people on their worst afternoons.
“Ms. Brooks?”
“Yes.”
“We spoke with witnesses at the residence.”
My mouth went dry.
“Okay.”
“Do you feel up to telling us what happened?”
I looked at Evan.
He stood.
“I can step out.”
“No.”
I reached for his hand.
“Stay.”
Officer Lewis pulled a small notebook from his pocket.
He began with simple questions.
Where had I been standing?
Where had Mom been?
What had been said?
Had I threatened her?
May you like
Had she threatened me?
Had there been physical contact before the slap?
