Chapter 3: Lily

The sterile smell of hospital disinfectant filled my nostrils as I blinked awake. For one terrifying moment, I thought I was back in the fertility clinic, about to hear that another treatment had failed.

"She's awake," someone said, and then James's face swam into view above me.

"Lily," he breathed, relief washing over his features. "Thank God."

"The baby?" My voice cracked with fear.

A doctor stepped into my line of sight. "Your baby is fine, Mrs. Collins.”

My body sagged with relief. "What happened?"

"Severe dehydration," the doctor explained. Combined with slightly low blood pressure. Not uncommon during the first trimester, but something we need to manage carefully."

James's hand tightened around mine. "You scared me to death. Mrs. Peterson found you passed out on the kitchen floor when she came to clean."

I tried to piece together my last memories. The text from James. The dizziness. The fall.

"I need you to take it easier," the doctor continued, making notes on her clipboard. "Plenty of fluids, regular small meals, and more rest."

James nodded solemnly. "I'll make sure of it."

The doctor smiled. "We'd like to keep you overnight for observation, but you should be able to go home tomorrow if all stays stable."

After she left, James pulled his chair closer to my bed. His eyes were red-rimmed, his usually impeccable appearance disheveled.

"I should have been there," he said, voice thick with emotion.

"You couldn't have known," I replied, though a part of me wanted to agree with him. Where had he been when I was collapsing alone in our kitchen?

He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm taking time off work. I'll work from home until you're feeling better."

"You don't need to do that."

"I do," he insisted. "My family comes first. Always."

The determination in his voice should have been comforting. Instead, it stirred that same unease I'd felt during his phone call that morning. There was something desperate in his devotion, something that felt like overcompensation.

A nurse bustled in to check my vitals, interrupting my thoughts.

"Your blood pressure's still a bit low," she commented. "Try to rest. No stressful conversations." She shot James a meaningful look.

When she left, an awkward silence fell between us.

"Do you want to watch some TV?" James finally asked, reaching for the remote.

I shook my head. "Tell me about your day instead."

He launched into a detailed account of his meetings, careful to keep his tone light and engaging. I let the familiar cadence of his voice wash over me, searching for any hint of deception.

"Oh, and I got a text from Zoe," he said casually. "She's planning to stop by tomorrow with some of your things."

My stomach clenched. "You told Zoe I'm in the hospital?"

"Of course. She's your best friend."

"What exactly did you tell her?"

His expression flickered with something I couldn't quite identify. "Just that you fainted from dehydration, and they're keeping you overnight as a precaution. Why?"

"No reason," I said quickly. "Just wondering how much she'll worry."

He studied me for a moment too long. "Is there something you don't want me to tell Zoe?"

The question hung between us, loaded with unspoken accusations.

"Of course not," I replied, forcing a smile. "I just hate making people worry."

He nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied with my answer. "You should rest. The doctor said stress isn't good for the baby."

My baby. The phrase made my protective instincts flare. Not our baby in that moment, but mine. The life I would protect at any cost.

As if reading my thoughts, James placed his hand gently on my stomach. "I can't wait to meet you, little one," he whispered. "Your mom and I have waited so long."

The tenderness in his voice made my eyes sting with tears. In that moment, he was the man I'd married, loving, gentle, and kind.

How could this be the same person who had struck me across the face just weeks ago?

When James finally left to grab dinner from the cafeteria, I reached for my phone on the bedside table. I scrolled to Zoe's number, my finger hovering over the call button.

What would I even say? *I think my husband is lying to me. I'm afraid of the father of my child.*

The words sounded paranoid even in my head. We'd been through so much together, the heartbreak of infertility, the emotional roller coaster of failed treatments. Was I looking for problems where there were none?

I set the phone down without calling.

As the night deepened, James dozed uncomfortably in the chair beside my bed, refusing to go home despite my insistence. I watched his sleeping face in the dim light, trying to reconcile the man I loved with the stranger he sometimes became.

"Mrs. Collins?" A night nurse poked her head in. "Time for your vitals."

As she checked my blood pressure, she chatted softly. "First baby?"

I nodded.

"You're in good hands here," she assured me, patting my arm. "And your husband hasn't left your side since you were admitted. That's real love right there."

I smiled tightly, not trusting myself to speak.

After she left, I turned toward the window, watching the city lights twinkle in the distance. Each one represented a home, a life, a story. How many of those stories resembled mine? How many women lie awake at night, wondering if the person they loved was becoming someone they should fear?

I placed my hand protectively over my stomach. "We'll figure this out," I whispered to my unborn child. "I promise."

But as sleep finally claimed me, the promise felt hollow, a desperate wish rather than a certainty.