تسجيل الدخولSophia's POVTwenty-eight weeks pregnant, and Emma insisted on having her bachelorette party."You can't have a bachelorette party," I said from my couch prison. "I'm on bed rest. I'm your maid of honor. How's that supposed to work?""Simple. We bring the bachelorette party to you.""That defeats the entire purpose.""The purpose is celebrating me. That can happen anywhere. Including your living room.""Emma—""Non-negotiable. I've already invited everyone. They're coming here Saturday. You're the designated sober supervisor which you'd be anyway since you're pregnant. It's perfect."She hung up before I could argue.David, overhearing from the kitchen, laughed."What's funny?" I asked."You. Thinking you could win an argument with Emma about her wedding.""I'm her boss.""You're on bed rest. She's Acting CEO. Currently, she outranks you.""That's not how ranks work.""That's exactly how they work in Emma's mind."He had a point.---Saturday arrived.Emma showed up at noon with six f
Sophia's POVTwenty-four weeks.Halfway through bed rest. Halfway to viability. Halfway to safe."You're at the milestone," Dr. Patterson said during her home visit. "Twenty-four weeks means if something happens, we can intervene. The baby has a fighting chance.""What kind of chance?""Sixty to seventy percent survival with modern NICU care. Higher if we can delay even a few more weeks."Not great odds. But better than zero."Your cervix is holding steady," she continued. "No further shortening. Baby's measuring well. You're doing everything right.""I'm lying on a couch doing nothing.""Exactly. You're doing nothing perfectly. Keep it up."After she left, I sat with that milestone.Twenty-four weeks. Viability. A fighting chance.Not safe. But possible.Emma called as if she'd been waiting for the appointment to end."Well?" she asked."Twenty-four weeks. Stable. Baby has a fighting chance if something goes wrong.""But nothing's going wrong.""Not currently.""Then we celebrate cur
Sophia's POVWeek one of bed rest, and I was already losing my mind.Not slowly. Rapidly. Aggressively. Completely."You need to relax," David said for the fortieth time."I am relaxed.""You're answering work emails at 6 a.m. from the couch where you're supposed to be resting.""I'm resting AND working. Multitasking.""Dr. Patterson said no stress.""Work isn't stressful. Work is what I do.""Sophia—""David. I've been on this couch for seven days. Seven. I'm going to crawl out of my skin if I don't do something productive."He looked at me with that expression. The one that meant he understood but disagreed."One hour," he said finally. "One hour of work emails. Then you rest. Actually rest.""Two hours.""One and a half. Final offer.""Deal."He kissed my forehead. "You're impossible.""You married me anyway.""Worst decision I ever made.""Best decision.""That too."---Isabella adapted better than expected.She'd appointed herself my personal assistant. Brought me water without
Sophia's POVTwenty weeks, and everything was fine.Until it wasn't.I woke at 3 a.m. to cramping. Not Braxton Hicks. Not round ligament pain. Something different.Sharp. Consistent. Wrong."David." I shook his shoulder. "David, wake up."He was alert immediately. Four years of parenting had trained him well."What's wrong?""Cramping. Bad cramping."He turned on the light. "How bad?""Bad enough that I'm scared."That got him moving.---We called Dr. Patterson. She told us to come to the hospital immediately.David called Mrs. Kane to stay with Isabella. She arrived in fifteen minutes, still in pajamas, hair unbrushed."Go," she said. "I've got her. Just go."The hospital was too bright, too sterile, too familiar from Isabella's birth.They got me into an exam room quickly. Dr. Patterson arrived within thirty minutes—impressive for 4 a.m."Let's see what's happening," she said, setting up the ultrasound.The cramping had eased. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I'd panicked for no reason.
Sophia's POVSixteen weeks pregnant, and I couldn't hide it anymore.The bump was there. Small but undeniable. Clothes that had fit last week no longer cooperated."You're showing," Emma observed during lunch. "Like, actually showing.""I'm aware.""It's cute. You look pregnant instead of just bloated.""Thank you for that distinction.""You're welcome." She stabbed her salad. "Have you told work yet? Officially?""Board meeting next week. I'll tell them then.""They're going to have opinions.""They always have opinions. I stopped caring about board opinions around the time I fired three of them for incompetence.""Fair point."Isabella sat between us in her booster seat, eating french fries with intense concentration. She'd mastered the art of dipping them in ketchup—mostly."Mama belly big," she announced."Yes, baby's growing.""Baby come out soon?""Not for a while. Baby needs to grow more first."She seemed satisfied with this. Returned to her fries."She's very calm about the w
Sophia's POVTwelve weeks pregnant, and everything hurt.Not physically. Physically I was fine. Better than with Isabella, actually. Less nausea. More energy.Emotionally, though. Everything hurt.Old fears resurfacing. Old patterns creeping back.What if I couldn't do this again? What if two kids broke us? What if Isabella suffered because we divided our attention?What if, what if, what if.Dr. Morrison listened to me spiral during our session."This sounds familiar," she observed."I know. I'm regressing. Being ridiculous.""You're being human. Second pregnancies often trigger different anxieties than first ones.""Why?""Because you know what you're getting into now. With Isabella, you were terrified of the unknown. Now you're terrified of the known."She was right.I knew what sleepless nights felt like. Knew the exhaustion. The constant demand. The way a baby consumed everything.And I was choosing to do it again."What if I can't love them equally?" I asked quietly."That's the







