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"Suppose I miscarry?" I whispered, the fear clawing at my heart.
"Don’t say that," Oliver whispered, his voice cracking. "I couldn’t take losing our baby."
"I’m not saying I will. The doctor said I’m healthy, but it happens."
"It won’t," he insisted, his eyes full of determination.
"You don’t know that. I’d rather wait."
"I’m not sure I can keep this news inside," he admitted, his grip tightening.
"Try. What can I do to help?" I asked, looking up at him, searching his eyes for reassurance.
Oliver's voice was barely above a whisper, tinged with a mixture of hope and fear. "So, everything after three months?"
I turned to face him, noting the worry lines etched around his eyes. "Usually miscarriages can happen at any time during a pregnancy," I explained gently, trying to balance honesty with reassurance.
His hand found mine, squeezing it tightly. "You'll be careful."
A sigh escaped my lips. "Oliver, stop saying that. No amount of careful is going to stop me from having a miscarriage if it's going to happen." I paused, studying his face. "You're afraid because of what happened to Faith, aren't you?"
Oliver's gaze dropped to our intertwined fingers. "I don't want to feel that way again," he admitted, his voice cracking slightly.
The vulnerability in his tone tugged at my heart. "You never told me when this happened," I prodded softly.
"Almost ten years ago," he replied, his eyes distant with memory.
I felt a flicker of surprise. "I didn't know you knew Lara for that long."
Oliver's focus snapped back to me, his expression earnest. "I've known Lara since I was twenty-two. It doesn't matter, she's just an acquaintance. You're my wife and all I care about."
As if on cue, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I tried to stifle a yawn but failed. "I need a nap," I mumbled, the weight of the day's revelations and emotions settling heavily on my shoulders.
Oliver nodded, his own fatigue evident in the slump of his posture. "I think I need one too. It's been a trying day."
I slid off Oliver's lap, my body protesting the movement. Taking his hand, I led him down the hall towards our bedroom. As we settled into bed, I felt Oliver's arm wrap protectively around my waist, his hand resting gently over my still-flat stomach.
Sleep came quickly, but my dreams were a swirling mix of joy and unease. Visions of a future filled with laughter and tiny footsteps danced through my mind, but they were shadowed by something darker – an unnamed fear that lurked at the edges of these happy scenes.
Chapter 19
Christmas morning arrived with a flurry of torn wrapping paper and surprised gasps. As I unwrapped each gift, a pattern emerged that both touched and amused me. A white quilted receiving blanket, a basket of bottles, tiny light blue booties, and a silver rattle – each item a testament to Oliver's excitement about our upcoming addition.
I couldn't help but roll my eyes, a mix of exasperation and affection coloring my voice. "Are you serious? I'm not even one month pregnant."
Oliver's face split into a proud grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I want to be prepared," he declared, puffing out his chest slightly.
A surge of hormones coursed through me, transforming my amusement into something more primal. I fixed Oliver with a heated stare. "You want to be prepared? Then fuck me before we leave."
Oliver's eyebrows shot up, a look of mock concern crossing his features. "I'm not sure I like the hormone-fueled Ryleigh," he teased, though I could see the interest sparking in his eyes.
"Why the hell not?" I challenged, stepping closer to him. "You love having sex."
He ran a hand through his hair, looking both amused and slightly overwhelmed. "You're constantly in need."
I shrugged unapologetically. "I'm hormonal. Get used to it."
Oliver let out a low chuckle. "I think three or four times is my limit per day."
