Darrell rushed toward me, eyes wide with manufactured concern.
The closer he got, the stronger that cloying perfume hit. It flooded my nostrils, thick and suffocating.
I shoved him away.
The doctor stepped forward at once, steadying Darrell by the arm, his voice low and reassuring.
"Mr. Farley, don't worry. It's perfectly common for expectant mothers to experience nausea from pre-delivery anxiety."
He placed a single pill in Darrell's palm.
"Have your wife take this. She'll feel better."
Darrell locked eyes with the doctor for one brief, loaded moment.
Then the doctor left the room.
Darrell pointed toward the doctor's retreating figure and smiled at me, his expression warm and tender.
"Beverly, those two hours I was gone? I went to find you a doctor. That was Dr. Finch, the one who just left. He was named the top OB-GYN surgeon in the capital this year. You're in good hands. He'll make sure you and the baby are safe."
He sat down on the edge of the bed and held the pill to my lips.
"Take this. It'll keep you comfortable for the three days before surgery. Be good. Take it."
I picked the pill from his palm, slipped it into my mouth, then grabbed the glass of water and drank the whole thing down.