Chapter 6 - The Clinical Threshold
The screen of my phone felt cold against my palm.
Your bloodwork from yesterday shows an unexpected spike in protein levels, and combined with your symptoms, we need to discuss moving your delivery date up. Please come in this morning.
The numbness that had blanketed me while watching Jake’s truck disappear down the street dissolved instantly, replaced by a sharp, rising tide of adrenaline.
Thirty-seven weeks and three days.
It wasn’t just a routine checkup message. Dr. Keller’s office didn't text at 5:35 AM on a Friday unless something required immediate attention. Pre-eclampsia. My mind supplied the medical term from prenatal brochures I’d half-read in the waiting room—blood pressure, protein, swelling that I’d foolishly blamed on the August heat and the sheer stress of my husband's deception.
I looked at the empty kitchen, at the half-full mug of coffee on the wooden table, and then down at my swollen feet.
Jake was somewhere on Interstate 25 right now, sitting in the back of Cody’s pickup truck next to Chloe Vance, trading jokes and listening to music, entirely oblivious to the fact that his son might enter the world hours from now.
A fierce, protective heat flared in my chest. I didn't need him. The terrifying realization didn't paralyze me anymore; it focused me like a laser.
I grabbed my phone, bypassed calling Jake entirely—because dialing his number right now would only mean listening to voicemail or hearing his annoyed, defensive tone—and dialed Nora instead.
She picked up on the second ring, her voice groggy with sleep. “Liv? Do you know what time it is?”
“Nora, listen to me,” I said, keeping my voice steady through the tremor in my lungs. “The guys left. Jake, Cody, Mason... and Chloe.”
A sharp intake of breath sounded on the other end of the line. “Chloe? The girl from the dealership? I thought Cody said Eric was—wait. Cody lied to me. He actually took off with her?”
“She’s in the truck with them right now, heading toward San Diego,” I said quickly. “And my doctor just messaged me. My bloodwork came back abnormal. I have to go to the hospital right now for evaluation, and they might induce today.”
Silence stretched across the line for two heartbeats. Then Nora’s sleepiness vanished completely, replaced by fierce, unwavering clarity.
“Where are you?” she demanded. “Are you still at the house?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t move. Don’t try to drive yourself. I am getting dressed right now, and I’ll be at your front door in fifteen minutes. We are going to the hospital together.”
“Nora, you don't have to—”
“Stop right there, Olivia,” she cut in, her voice fierce. “My husband lied to my face, and your husband is an absolute coward. You are not going through this alone. Pack your bag. I’m on my way.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone for a second before the tears—hot, angry, and cleansing—finally spilled over my lashes. I wiped them away with the back of my hand, turned on my heel, and walked upstairs to grab the hospital bag that had been sitting in the corner of our bedroom closet for a month.
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When Nora’s Honda Civic pulled up to the curb twenty minutes later, I walked out the front door, locked it behind me, and didn't look back once at the nursery window upstairs.
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