I stood in our kitchen in our new house.
It wasn’t entirely finished—the walls were yet to be painted, curtains put up, and fireplace installed, but we’d moved in a week ago to a night of seduction in a bare bedroom with just a king mattress that we’d bought.
We kissed in every room to christen the place. And eventually, we would have sex in every room, but for now, I was too heavily pregnant for Ren to touch in any other manner than with tenderness.
I’d burst into tears as Ren carried me over the threshold the first time and paraded me around the first home we’d ever owned.
Our home.
No one else’s.
Ours.
It wasn’t overly large but had a cosy reading nook, cute living room, and country kitchen. Our bedroom was a simple square with large glass doors that led to a wraparound deck that welcomed the outside in.
The whole design was like a large tent with the main dwellings in the middle and sleeping quarters on either side.
We were twenty-three and thirty-three, both so young, so happy, so blessed.
And as I looked up from where I stood in the kitchen, the view of rolling meadows and untouched perfection better than any dream—I melted at how incredible it all was.
I rubbed my bulging belly, poking at the tiny foot making itself known in my side.
I sighed contentedly as I kept one eye on the view and one on cutting the crusts off Ren’s turkey and mayo sandwiches.
Height of summer and he was working late.
The field had been cut three days ago and allowed to air dry in the heat. He’d turned it this morning and raked it into long rows, and now, as the sun hung low in the sky teasing with dusk, he was about to bale.
No rest for the farmer in summer.
Packing the sandwich into a bag with an apple, bottle of water, and a couple of Hershey’s Kisses, I left the sun-drenched house we’d built and waddled my way down the garden with its flagstone pavers, through the yet-to-be-painted gate, and to the meadow beyond.
The sound of the tractor churned and coughed, the motor of the baler whirring in rhythm and clunking with age as loose grass went in one end and spat out the other as a rectangle bound by string.
Halfway across the large field, the crunch of metal and the abrupt sound of an engine ceasing wrenched my head up.
Oh, dear.
The first cut of the season was always the thickest, and the old equipment sometimes didn’t cope.
Peering into the setting sun, I caught sight of Ren as he leapt from the tractor and went to investigate the attached baler.
He staggered a little from jumping from a height.
He stumbled forward as if gathering his momentum.
I thought nothing of it.
I’d seen him trip from the tractor a thousand times.
He might not be the most agile, but he was springy.
My eyes stayed on him, expecting him to solve the puzzle of his legs and stay upright.
Only…this time, he didn’t find his feet.
His arms didn’t spread out for balance. His body didn’t twist for purchase. His spine rolled, his head flopped, and he tumbled forward, vanishing into the rowed grass.
For a second, I couldn’t compute what had happened.
My retinas still burned with a picture of him standing.
But he was gone.
Disappeared.
No, no, no, no.
“Ren!” My screech sent a cloud of sparrows and starlings feeding on bugs in the grass into the skies. “Ren!” I dropped his dinner and forgot I was pregnant.
I broke into an ungainly sprint. “Ren!”
He didn’t get up.
He didn’t appear.
Please, please, please.
I ran and ran.
Waddled and waddled.
Galloped and galloped.
The field was big, and I was slow.
It took an eternity to reach him, and by the time I did, my belly sliced with an agonising blade.
Grimacing, I ignored it, skidding to my knees beside Ren.
“Come on. You’re okay,” I gasped, telling Ren he was okay, but maybe telling myself more. “Wake up.” Face first in the grass, I brushed aside his sun-bronzed hair and found a closed eye.
Slack lips.
Smooth forehead.
Shallow breath.
Another slice cut right around my middle, wrenching a grunt and groan-scream from my lips.
Once again, I ignored it, and with all my strength, pushed Ren’s shoulder until he rolled and flopped onto his back.
His hands stayed unmoving.
His arms bent.
Legs crossed over each other from being rolled.
Grass stuck to his hair and face, and my hands shook as I tried to brush it aside.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t speak.
Another lacerating pain rippled through my abdomen as I bent over him, tapping his cheeks. “Ren.” Tapping turned to slapping the more unresponsive he became. “Ren! Don’t you dare do this to me, Ren.”
Tears cascaded.
More pain pulverised my belly.
No one was around to help.
Pulling his head close, I had no lap to cradle him, thanks to my pregnant belly. I had to settle with an awkward hug.
I rocked him.
I cried for him.
I did the only thing I could.
I screamed.
And something answered that scream, deep in my belly, twisting and tearing, desperate to get out.
Once again, I ignored it.
“No, no, no.” I hugged Ren, another blood-curdling cry tumbling from my lips.
I didn’t know what I screamed, only that I did.
I screamed again and again.
And still, he didn’t wake up.
And then, in a flash of sunset, something winging caught my eye.
Cassie.
Thank God, Cassie.
She bolted fast on Mighty Mo. Bare back and just a halter, as if she’d snatched the horse from his stable and kicked him into a run. His hooves ploughed through grass rows, jumping others. “Della!”
I groaned, tipping forward into the grass as my own pain overcame me. Planting a hand over the worst pressure I’d ever felt, my palm nudged the small hardness of my pocket-stored cell-phone.
Stupid.
So stupid.
Wrenching it out, I shook and grunted as yet another knife punctured my insides. Crawling closer to Ren, I blinked back tears and punched the numbers for help.
The call connected quickly.
An operator urgent and brisk. “What’s your emergency?”
My breath tore and laced with misery and woe. Another vicious band of agony worked through my belly, my hips naturally spreading, my thighs growing warm.
“A man. He’s unconscious. He has stage one mesothelioma. Please—” Pain cut me off. “Send an ambulance. Cherry River—”
I hissed as yet another wave hit me, this one stronger than the last. I moaned into the phone, buckling over, holding the baby in my belly. The baby who’d chosen this exact moment to arrive. “—Farm. Please hurry.”
“Okay, ma’am, we’re sending someone right now.”
A gush of wetness drenched my underwear, and I laughed.
Laughed with sick disbelief and incredulous timing.
“Oh, Goooddd,” I groaned, not able to hold my belly and my husband at the same time.
Death had visited.
Life wouldn’t be ignored.
Both battled to kill me.
“You okay, Ma’am?” the operator asked.
I shook my head, my lips spread wide.
I couldn’t speak.
But I didn’t need to.
Cassie arrived in a flurry of horse and hooves, leaping off to slam to her knees beside me. Mighty Mo snorted like a dragon, wired and amped, feeding on stress.
Cassie ignored him, took one look at Ren, then focused entirely on me. “Shit, Della.” Snatching my phone, she barked. “Ambulance. Two of the damn things. One for a man with asbestos cancer and another who’s just gone into labour.”
She nodded to whatever the woman said on the other end. “Yes. Back meadow. John Wilson will help you.”
I screamed as yet another deeper, demanding fury filled me. A fury tangled with bone and blood and bruises.
“You need to hurry,” Cassie snapped.
Throwing my phone into the grass, she gathered me close, placed her hand on Ren’s shallow breathing chest, and kissed my cheek. “It’s okay, Della. You’ll both be fine. You’ll see.”
I was glad she was there.
Grateful for help.
Only problem was…I didn’t believe her.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
REN
2022
FLASH.
The field with grass at optimum dryness to bale.