I thought he'd be home soon, so I didn't worry at first. But after two hours of waiting and countless unanswered calls, I realized he wasn't coming. My hands and feet were freezing, and the pain in my stomach was getting worse.
After the twentieth call went unanswered, I felt a drop of blood fall onto the snow. I shivered and called for help. By the time I got to the hospital, the doctor told me I couldn't keep the baby. It hit me only when the cold instruments were inside me—I was pregnant.
A nurse scolded me, "How could you be so foolish? Waiting in the cold for two hours and not even realizing you're pregnant!" I was in so much pain I could hardly breathe, unsure how to respond. Was it silly? Was two hours really that long?
When I thought about it, I had been waiting for Daniel for ten years; it had become a part of me. The nurse asked me to stay for observation for half an hour. I opened my social media and saw Ada's new post: "Today we face the snow together; this life counts as growing old side by side."