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“No one’s making you.”
His hands drop from my shoulders. “Is this your final decision?”
“Yes. No matter what happens, yes.”
“Then you’re on your own.” He goes for the door, not bothering to look back. He walks through and shuts it, abandoning me—his fiancée—and his unborn child.
I hate him right now. I hate him as much as I love the little boy growing inside me. I crumple to the floor, sobbing for what was. What could have been. What’s going to be.
Arms come around me. It’s Dr. Miller. “Is there someone I can call, Allie?”
Through my sobs, I nod. “I want my mom.”
Cries from a baby wake me from my nightmare. For just a split second, I think it’s Christopher. But once the beautiful tropical vista fills my vision, I remember where I am.
And that the baby crying is not mine.
Picking up my nephew and snuggling him close, we cry together. Me more so than him. I cry until I can’t cry another single tear.
Chapter Six
Allie
I wipe my eyes and answer the door to find Mom standing there, looking all tan and much younger than her years. She’s wearing a two-piece bathing suit, the bottoms covered by a pair of sheer lounge pants. Her hair is escaping a tangled bun, an indicator of just how windy it is outside. She looks really pretty.
Everyone says I look like my mom. I hope that means I’ll also look a decade younger when I’m in my fifties.
“Those kids are going to run me ragged,” she says, stepping over the threshold while searching through her bag, for a hairbrush most likely. “I just dropped them off with Blake for a few hours so I could come check on you and—”
She finally looks up at me, and her head tilts as she studies my face. Her eyes soften as she runs a finger down my cheek. “You’ve been crying.” She looks over at Mitchell, who’s lying in his bouncy seat. “Bad day?” Taking my hand, she pulls me toward the couch. “Come sit.”
She doesn’t have to ask why I’m having a bad day, and I don’t tell her. She knows. She’s one of a select few people who know what being around Mitchell does to my heart. That it both expands and breaks at the very same time. That it makes me want to laugh yet scream. That being around any baby solidifies my stance to never become anything but a doting aunt.
“Why don’t I take him and let you get some rest?”
“I’m fine, Mom. And I don’t need rest. I just had a nap.” I glance outside. “Which is why I was crying.”
“Oh, honey, were you dreaming of him?”
I nod.
She squeezes my hand. “I know it’s not the same, not even close, but to this day I still sometimes dream about the baby I lost before I got pregnant with you.”
I nuzzle into her shoulder. “You never told me that. I mean, I knew about the miscarriage, but not that you had dreams.”
“After what you went through, I didn’t think it was fair to bring it up. There’s just no comparing our experiences.”
“What are your dreams?”
“Mostly about you having an older sister. Maybe that’s what I mourn the most. The boys all had each other, but you never got to have that special bond.”
“I hadyou,” I say, looking up at her. “And I’m lucky to have three brothers I get along with so well.”
She smiles. “So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” She must see a certain look in my eyes, because her smile becomes brighter. “Oh, right. Today is the day Asher and Bug arrive.” She hops off the couch and starts gathering Mitchell’s things. “You’ll want to shower and shave and primp and all that.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
Mom stops folding the portable bassinet. “Youarehappy he’s coming, aren’t you?”