Damn it all to hell.
Flagging down a cab, I made it back to our apartment rather quickly, deciding to check there first. Showing up at the hospital would be my next step. The elevator was like a slow crawl, moving up the building at a snail’s pace, as I tapped my foot restlessly, waiting for our floor to ding. The doors finally opened, and I sped down the hallway, pulling out my keys, ready to unlock the door.
As soon as I bolted into the apartment, I saw her sitting on the sofa, her face turned toward the giant window that overlooked the city.
The blank look on her face stopped me cold.
“Lailah,” I called out.
She turned to me with a sudden mixture of emotions moving across her features, kicking my feet into gear.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I knelt by her side, touching her everywhere.
Her shoulders, her heart, were solid and strong. She felt healthy and safe, but her demeanor was saying the exact opposite. It gave me chills.
“I went to the doctor,” she started.
“I know. I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
“I don’t have the flu.”
“Okay,” I said, pulling a chair toward her and taking a seat. I gripped her hands in mine, willing her to say the words, to tell me what was going on.
Her eyes met mine, and she smiled. “I’m pregnant, Jude.”
That finely tuned tightrope I’d been walking since the day she came back into my life—the one I’d kept taking slow, steady steps on each and every time her doctor had told us she was doing great and her heart was healthy—suddenly snapped beneath me.
I felt my stomach hit the floor. My ears rang violently in my head as if my mind was rejecting the very idea because it couldn’t possibly be true.
“No,” I replied softly. “No,” I said again, shaking my head.
“I saw the baby.”
From under a blanket, she produced a tiny black-and-white photo. Her name was typed neatly at the top with today’s date. Positioned in the center was a tiny black dot. It didn’t look like much, but I remembered my secretary had shown me one of her daughter’s first ultrasounds, and it looked similar, maybe slightly bigger.
I took the photo as she began to speak, my ears . . . my heart, every damn part of me rejecting everything she was saying.
“Based on the size and the fact that my period is only a few days late, the doctor said we probably conceived around our wedding night. Isn’t that crazy?” A laugh laced with tears fell from her lips as she gazed down at the tiny picture in her hands.
“We did everything right.” Tears stung my eyes as I looked up at her—my beautiful, gorgeous wife.
“That’s what I said, but when the doctor examined me, I guess my IUD had shifted. She said it basically rendered it useless. She had to remove it today so everything will be touch and go for the next few weeks as far as the pregnancy is concerned.”
Her expression turned almost mournful—an emotion I couldn’t wrap my head around quite just yet. So many emotions, I nearly felt numb.
“But the condoms?” I pressed on as if arguing the matter could overrule the picture I held in my hand.
A late-night Friends marathon suddenly flashed through my memory. Lailah and I had been curled up on the couch, and we’d both just finished laughing hysterically as a frantic Ross called the customer-service line on the back of a condom box, outraged that Rachel was pregnant. I’d told her how improbable that was. It turned out, Ross and I weren’t that different.
“Dr. Riley—the OB-GYN said it’s rare, but these things do happen.” That smile returned again as she glanced down at the picture once more.
“They don’t, not to you,” I said adamantly. “When do we go back to see Dr. Hough?”
“I don’t know. I told him I needed to talk to you, and then we’d schedule something.”
“I want to see him today.” I jumped up, grabbing the phone from my pocket.
“Jude, would you just calm down?” Her hands touched me as she tentatively stood.
“Calm down, Lailah? You’re pregnant. This might be a joyous occasion for Bill and Harriet down the hall. But for you?”
“I know!” she screamed, throwing her hands up in the air, as tears melted down her cheeks. “Okay! I get it. But would you just stop for one second and realize that I might be happy about this?”
My hands shook, itching to dial the number I’d pulled up on my phone, but I stopped myself.
I pulled her into my arms as sobs took over, raking through her small frame, while she shook.
“I’m sorry, angel. I’m so sorry.”
Hardwired to protect, my first gut reaction was to do just that—protect her by whatever means necessary. But a husband was so much more than that, and a month in, I was still learning.