MY BODY HURTS. I’m stiff and sore and every step is agony. But it’s nothing compared to the heartache.
Lauren was here.
She came over last night, took care of me. Knowing she still cares just makes it that much worse. It would be easier if she hated me, if she yelled at me and cursed my name.
Why does she have to be sogood?
It only makes me feel that much worse about myself. I’m such a fuck up. Maybe my father was right all along in avoiding me. He could see how worthless it all was.
I hate myself for hurting someone as beautiful as Lauren. I hate myself for messing up the chance to be with the only person I’ve ever loved. Most of the time, no matter how deep of shit I’d gotten myself into, I can find a way out. I rarely feel hopeless, rarely think I’m stuck with a shitty situation.
I get up, mouth dry, and limp into the kitchen. The blanket is neatly folded on the couch. I stare at it a moment too long, heart hurting.
Fuck, I want Lauren back.
Then I see the note on the counter and I’m about to completely lose it. I’ve never been this torn up before. Can I even handle reading what Lauren has to say? For sure I can’t handlenotknowing. I pick up the paper.
Noah-
Leave the dressings over your stitches for 24 hours. You can gently wash it with soap and water. Pat dry and put antibiotic ointment on. Cover with gauze and keep area clean and dry. Don’t go to the gym for at least a week. Go back to get the stitches out in ten days. Call the doc right away if you see redness, swelling, or feel an increase in pain.
Take care.
-Lauren
That’s it? I blink and look down again, hoping I missed some sort of hidden message where she confessed her undying love for me and need to be back together.
I know she cares. She has to. Why else would she have gone to the trouble of coming over? I crumple the paper and throw it across the room, mad at myself, not at Lauren.
It’s nine-thirty; Lauren is at work. I call her anyway, but hang up when I get her voicemail, mind suddenly blanking. I want so badly to tell her everything, to hold her, to feel Ella’s little feet kicking away.
My phone vibrates and my heart jumps out of my chest. It’s not Lauren; it’s Colin asking how I’m doing. I respond with a quick “sore but okay” and press send.
I set the phone down and open the fridge to get something to eat. There’s a turkey sandwich in a plastic baggie, made by Lauren. She’s the most fucking considerate person on the planet.
Someone like Lauren doesn’t happen twice. She didn’t walk into my life. She ran. And though we collided, only one of us got hit.
Chapter 25
LAUREN
“LAUREN W.”
I stand when the nurse calls my name and walk across the waiting room.
“Hi, how are you?” she asks cheerfully.
“I’m good,” I lie. I haven’t been good since the baby shower eight days ago. Add in knowing Noah was in an accident, and I’ve been a ball of anxiety and nerves. “Tired, of course.”
She laughs. “At almost thirty-two weeks, you’re really feeling it.”
“Sometimes I don’t think I can make it another eight weeks.”
We stop at a scale. I step on, not even phased by the weight gain anymore. “You’re getting into the home stretch now.”
“Thank goodness.” After getting weighed, I go in to the bathroom, give a sample of pee in a cup, and join the nurse in the exam room. It’s nearing five o’clock on a Monday night. I’m pretty sure I have the last appointment before the office closes.
“How are you feeling?” the nurse asks.