Colores Violetas

I wedged my right foot against the door and refused to back down.

“Connor, the doctor said I must stay out of the cold. If I catch a cold, it could affect the baby.”

Connor’s fingers paused.

He turned and glanced at my baby bump. For a moment, he seemed to feel sorry for me.

At nine months pregnant, my shirt stretched taut over my bulging belly.

Before he could say anything, Quilla Langford, who was lying beside him, let out a sudden groan.

“Mr. Smith, my ankle hurts so much.”

Connor’s expression immediately turned cold.

“You were fine when we hiked halfway up the mountain. That proves you’re perfectly healthy. My baby can’t possibly be that fragile.

“Quilla must have sprained her ankle. I need to get her down the mountain and to a doctor right away.”

He kept rubbing Quilla’s ankle and pressed the button to close the doors with his other hand.

Even though half of my foot was still in the doorway, he did not hesitate for a second.

“Zara, stop blocking the door.”

The doors closed, and the cable car slowly shrank to a tiny dot before my eyes.

I clung to the sign outside the ticket booth. My feet were so swollen that my shoes felt like they would burst.

It was the first day of my twenty-fifth year.

It was also my last birthday before I became a mother.

I had been looking forward to seeing what special birthday gift Connor had in store. But he had to leave on a last-minute business trip last month and did not return until the early hours of that morning.

I understood how busy he was, so I patiently waited until 4 p.m. for him to wake up.

But the first thing he said was, “Why aren’t you dressed yet? Quilla planned a trip up the mountain to watch the sunrise just for your birthday.”

I froze and instinctively covered my belly.

“Connor, how can you expect me to climb a mountain to watch the sunrise when I’m this far along?”

Connor impatiently got up and headed for the shower. He did not even look back.

“Why can’t you climb a mountain just because you’re in your third trimester?

“Quilla came with you to your prenatal appointment even though she had a fever. Now, she’s making time to celebrate your birthday. At least appreciate the effort she’s making for you.

“Zara, you’re pregnant, not disabled. You can’t expect the whole world to cater to you.”

Those last few words had weighed on me throughout my entire pregnancy.

He said my morning sickness was all in my head. When I could not stomach the glucose drink for my gestational diabetes test, he accused me of being picky.

He blamed my swollen feet and pelvic pain on my weak constitution. When I could not turn over in bed by myself in the middle of the night, he said I just could not stand the fact that he slept so soundly.

My pregnancy symptoms were plain to the world, but he never took them seriously.

I went to every prenatal appointment alone, and he never gave it a second thought.

When I was seven months pregnant, Quilla suddenly offered to accompany me to a checkup. Connor was so worried about her that he called us over and over on the way there.

In the end, I still went alone.

Just as we were about to reach the hospital, Quilla coughed.

Connor immediately sped off to take her to the emergency room. He helped her get her temperature checked, then told me to get out of the car and walk to the obstetrics department by myself.

When I was uncomfortable, he said I was just being dramatic.

But when Quilla coughed once, it was suddenly an emergency.

By then, night had fallen, and the mountain wind was bitterly cold.

Connor had rushed me out of the house, so I had brought only a thin jacket that I could not even zip up.

I took off my jacket and wrapped it around my belly for warmth. Then, I knocked on the glass window of the ticket booth.