“It means a fertilized egg is growing outside the uterus. The baby can’t survive and it will lead to life-threatening internal bleeding if we don’t stop it.”
I couldn’t focus on the words life-threatening without wanting to be sick.
“How? How did this happen? She’s on the pill.” Frowning at Della, I asked, “You’ve been taking it, right? We had an agreement—”
“I know. And I am.” She squeezed my hand. “But about a fortnight ago—just before the storm—I had an upset tummy. Just once. I didn’t think anything of it, and we didn’t have sex that night. By the time you woke me up in the morning—”
She blushed, flicking a glance at the doctor and saving him the details of just how I’d woken her up by slipping inside her warm, soft body as she moaned, still half asleep.
“Anyway, I didn’t remember that we should probably use alternate protection.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry, Ren. I know this is my fault.”
“Don’t, Della.” I shook my head. “It takes two to cause this. I’m just as much at fault as you.”
She smiled gently. “Regardless, it was enough for me to get pregnant.” She winced. “I’m truly sorry.”
“Stop saying that.” Looking back at the doctor, I commanded, “Why has she been so ill? Women get pregnant all the time. Why is my wife struggling so much?”
“It’s a possibility she has another condition called hyperemesis gravidarum, but those symptoms don’t usually show up until week four or five. And she’s not that far along. We’ll cross that bridge when she next wants to have children, but for now, we need to deal with this. Unfortunately, the pregnancy can’t be permitted to continue.”
My mind didn’t know which word was more important to latch onto, so I let them all go in a stream of incomprehensible gibberish.
Della was pregnant.
But she couldn’t continue to be?
“I-I don’t understand.” I sounded like a fucking idiot.
Doctor Strand clasped his hands. “I don’t want you to concern yourself with her vomiting. Sometimes these things just happen.”
“How can we make it un-happen?”
“By removing what the body is obviously trying to reject.” He gave Della a supportive smile. “The small procedure we’ve done is an injection. I’ve given her methotrexate, also known as trexall. It will stop the cells from growing and allow the body to reabsorb the pregnancy.”
He rushed as I opened my mouth to ask more questions. “I think she’s only nine or so days along, so the medication should be effective. There’s always the risk of it not working, in which case laparoscopic surgery is our next option. However, we prefer to use mexthotrexate to prevent damaging the fallopian tubes, which may cause complications for future conceptions.
“I require Mrs Wild to come in daily to monitor her hCG levels until they’re back to normal. The good news is she isn’t far along, and I have confidence she’ll make a full recovery once the pregnancy is terminated.”
Clearing his throat again, he threw a kind look at Della before focusing on me. “I have already advised Mrs Wild of the side effects, but you should be aware, too. The injection can sometimes cause cramping, some bleeding, nausea, and dizziness. I recommend she take it easy and spend a few days in bed. Think you can keep her there?”
I didn’t know if he was trying to make a joke to cut through the tension or if he was serious. Either way, Della wouldn’t be leaving a bed the moment I found her one.
“Is she free to go?” My mind already leapt ahead, problem solving and planning. Where the hell would we sleep tonight?
“She is. I’ve made an appointment to see her in the morning.”
Della swung her legs over the bed, her feet dangling high off the floor. “I’m fine, Ren. Honestly. We’ll just treat it as a mini-vacation, and then we can go home.”
I smiled and let her believe I accepted that, when in reality, I was already committed to staying close to town for the next few months. Autumn had already arrived. We only had another six to eight weeks of chilly weather before we would’ve been driven into civilisation by the snow anyway.
We were here now.
We would stay until spring.
Pushing me away a little, Della sprang to the floor, wincing and grabbing her stomach.
“Goddammit, let me carry you.” Wrapping my arms around her, I tried to pick her up, but she shoved me back. “I can walk, Ren. Don’t even think about it.”
My jaw locked, but I wouldn’t argue in front of a stranger.
“Thank you, Doctor Strand. I’ll see you in the morning.” Della took my hand, and together, we headed from the strong-smelling room and back to the waiting area.
I settled up, paid yet another small fortune, and accepted a card with a new appointment time for eleven a.m. tomorrow.
By the time we were on the street, thick darkness had fallen and even the restaurants were closed. I doubted we could find a similar cottage like our last one at this time of night. I doubted we could even find something to eat.
Della pointed at a quaint sign up ahead. “Look, it’s a Bed and Breakfast. Let’s crash there and sort out better accommodation tomorrow.”
I froze.
The thought of sleeping in a house with strangers. Of seeing those same people in the morning. Of hearing them through the walls and sharing their showers.
God, no.
I honestly didn’t think I could do it.
My feet actually backed away as everything inside me repelled against the idea.
I would rather sleep on the street. Naked.
But then Della flinched and hissed between her teeth, her face going white and hinting she wasn’t as okay as she pretended.
She was ill.
She was tired.
And it was no longer about me.
It was never about me.
“Okay, Della. Bed and Breakfast it is.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
REN
2019
I DIDN’T SLEEP.
Of course, I didn’t sleep.
After we’d checked into the last available room in the five-bedroom Bed and Breakfast, I’d paced the small flower-decorated space like a caged rat. Thanks to my idiosyncrasies, I didn’t have a hope in hell of relaxing in this place.
Just as I feared, the sounds of pipes groaning as another guest had a shower and the flush of a toilet a wall away drove me nuts.
I wasn’t claustrophobic, but living so close to other people was past my very limited tolerance when it came to my fellow human race.
I didn’t know how Della stood it, considering we both preferred trees and silence to buildings and chaos. Then again, she’d spent her childhood in noisy school classrooms and busy malls. Her natural habitat included both, while mine was firmly set in wide open fields with only a tractor and wind for company.
Doing my best to stay calm, I pictured emptiness all around me with no threats to listen to and no people to suspect.
But it didn’t work.
I despised being so close.
I hated that we weren’t free to go where we wanted.
I cursed how, even now, even though almost two decades separated me from Mclary, I still had the occasional panic attack that demanded I run.
The day I’d had my first attack—when John Wilson closed the door at Christmas to give me my first pay packet—I’d wondered if I’d outgrow them.
And I had, to a degree.
But my childhood had made me distrustful, and the loner who had run when he was ten was just as happy on his own with Della now that he was twenty-nine as he had been as a boy.
I was simple.
I needed Della.
That was it.
Nothing else required.
And the thought that she could be taken from me by something as idiotic as this?
It made me fucking rage.
It was exactly what I’d feared happening. It was why I never wanted her pregnant in the first place.
I paced again, checking the bathroom for intruders—as if they could climb through the tiny window—doing anything I could to stop my temper from building and latching onto the one person I shouldn’t be angry at but was suddenly insanely furious with.
By the time I entered the bedroom again, my fists were clenched, my heart beating chaotically, and I itched for a fight—anything to expend the sick-fury and never ending need to keep Della safe.
I couldn’t fight her body from hurting her.