I gently touched my slightly swollen belly, and suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my back.
Hurriedly, I lay back down on the bed.
Bernard and I had been in love for three years, married for five. The baby in my belly was conceived through IVF after countless injections and doses of heparin, and now, at five months along, I was desperate to protect it.
I didn't dare fall asleep. I kept taking deep breaths and changing out the cooling patches. The room's temperature was set to 64°F, but my fever only seemed to rise.
To distract myself, I checked my social media again.
My hand trembled when I saw Annika Morris' post, causing my phone to slip from my grasp.
I quickly picked it up.
Annika's latest post read: [Someone who cares about you will rush to see you, even across an entire city.]
The attached photo was of a hand holding a paper bag of medicine.
And the watch on that hand was the one I had given Bernard as an anniversary gift.
Our initials were even engraved on the back of it.
So, he wasn't truly busy. He wasn't going on a business trip. He had flown to another city in the dead of night just to deliver medicine to the person who had once bullied me.