Page 92 of Full Out Fiend
It doesn’t matter what Anthony knows or what he tells Daphne. It doesn’t matter what happened in the past or what atrocities I’ve committed.
She’s in. She’s not going anywhere. I have to trust that. What she and I have found—what we’ve created together—it’s the kind of love and acceptance we both craved individually for years.
I refuse to fuck this up.
I’m the only one who can prove I’ve changed—that I’m reliable, dependable, capable of a selfless, unconditional kind of love. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life showing up and playing full out for her—playing full out for both of them.
She stirs and turns her head on the pillow, and I take the opportunity to gingerly pull her closer. I work my arm under her head so she can use it as a pillow just the way she likes. I rest my palm on her stomach, and Winnie gives me a hard, determined kick.
My girls.
I have something to prove, something to live for—someone, two of them actually, who makes this life worth living. It’s more than I deserve, but I’m going to savor it, appreciate it, work hard to earn it. I drift off to sleep with a stillness in my soul that I haven’t felt in years.
Chapter 50
Daphne
Nowthatmyprenatalappointments are every other week, I’ve had to schedule them at odd times to fit around my clients. It might as well be the holidays all over again with how busy I’ve been—apparently, everyone needs a Brazilian before my maternity leave, even though I only plan to be off for eight weeks.
I really like the midwife I’m seeing today, which makes it easier since Fielding couldn’t make it to this appointment. His course load is lighter this semester, but he’s working on a huge group project that’s due at the end of the week, so he’s on campus all day trying to wrap that up.
The countdown is on. Just one month to go until we meet our baby girl.
“Hmm,” the midwife hums as she measures from my public bone to the top of my uterus, which is practically bumping up against my lungs. “You’re measuring a little behind, but that could be due to her positioning. Where are you feeling movement today?”
Elowyn gives a swift kick to my bladder, making me wince and clench my legs together. “All her kicks are low,” I admit. “It feels like she’s dancing on my bladder right now.”
The midwife places her hands on my stomach and gently presses into different sections of my swollen belly.
“I’m almost certain she’s breech, so that makes sense.”“Is that bad?” I stress.
“No, not at this point. She technically has another week or so to get into position. You just have a little gymnast in there,” she reassures me, smiling as she updates something on the computer.
“I’ll place an order for an ultrasound so we can confirm position. If she is breech, and if you do want to attempt a vaginal delivery, we’ll need to talk about the conducting an external cephalic version.”
“What’s that?” I rush to ask. I’m grateful they already took my blood pressure—my heart rate is surely increasing by the second. I wish Fielding were here to ask the right questions.
“It’s an external procedure used to physically reposition baby. It’s not without risk, and we don’t even attempt it until thirty-seven weeks, so you have some time to consider your options.”
“Is there a chance she’ll turn on her own?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she assures me. “We’ll schedule the ultrasound this week so we know where things stand then.”
I grimace at the prospect of having to carve out another chunk of time at work. There’s literally no time left in my schedule this week—I’m already working late every day to squeeze everyone in.
“I—I don’t have much time available this week. At least not during office hours.” I feel like shit implying I can’t make time for my baby’s health. But maybe there’s another location that offers earlier appointments.
“Tell ya what.” The midwife purses her lips. “Why don’t I see if the ultrasound tech has time to squeeze you in right now? You’re already here, and we can at least confirm positioning now so we can start planning for a version.”
“That’s perfect,” I exhale, relieved, as she gets up to leave the room.
I adjust my pants and waddle off the exam table, then fish my phone out of my bag to text Fielding the updates. Only a few minutes pass before they’re whisking me away to imaging.
I’m treated to more cold goop all over my belly, but I don’t mind. Fielding is upset he’s not here for this impromptu ultrasound, so I ask the tech if she can please print out lots of pictures.
She spends a few minutes adjusting the transponder, pressing it into my stomach at various angles. “Definitely breech,” she notes, pointing out Elowyn’s head near my rib cage. One of her legs is also hooked overhead so it looks like she’s doing the splits.
“Did the midwife mention you were measuring small?”