Cradling my belly with one hand, I took out my phone and switched to video mode. With trembling fingers, I watched through the screen as Dante lifted Cara into the passenger seat and carefully buckled her seatbelt. The way he moved around her. Protective. Attentive. Like she was something precious.
My eyes burned, but I blinked back the tears.
"Driver, follow that car," I said.
The car climbed onto the overpass, neon lights flashing by outside the window. The city spread below us, glittering and indifferent. In a daze, my nails dug into the window frame until they split, the sharp pain snapping me back to reality. I put my bleeding fingers into my mouth and bit down hard.
As the car wove through the city streets, I repeated to myself, over and over, "Olivia, endure it. The pain will pass."
I was a Ferraro before I was ever a Moretti wife. And Ferraros did not break. Not where anyone could see.
When we arrived at Riverside General Hospital, I scanned the payment code and settled the fare.
As I stepped out of the car, the usually quiet driver turned to me and said, with unexpected kindness, "Miss, take care of yourself. For the baby's sake, don't hurt yourself."