Charity scrolled through the group chat, jabbing her finger at one of the memes, shaking with glee.
"Brendan, look at her. She's hideous."
"Her whole face is so red and bloated—she looks like a sow in labor. No offense, but it's honestly kind of nauseating."
Brendan arched an eyebrow but didn't stop what he was doing. His thumbs kept moving, sending freshly made mocking stickers into the chat.
"Now you know what I sacrificed to get you a laugh."
"You and the guys only have to look through a screen. I was right there in the delivery room, front-row seat. If I weren't thinking about how funny you'd find this, I would've run out and puked."
His disgusted tone sent Charity into another fit of giggles.
I lay frozen on the bed. Ice crawled from the soles of my feet and spread through my entire body. My chest felt like it had been ripped open by invisible hands—cold air rushing in, raw and searing.
Two hours ago, my water broke. They wheeled me into the delivery room.
Brendan—who'd promised to wait outside and be the first to hold our baby—was frantic with worry. He insisted on coming in with me, no matter what anyone said.