LILY
The hospital smells like disinfectant and fear.
I'm lying on my side in the emergency room, staring at the ultrasound monitor while a technician moves the wand across my belly. James sits in the chair beside me, holding my hand for the first time in weeks.
Funny how a crisis can make him remember how to be a husband.
"There's the heartbeat," the technician says, and I nearly sob with relief.
The steady thump-thump-thump fills the room, and I finally allow myself to breathe.
"Baby looks good," Dr. Mills says, reviewing the images. She's young, with kind eyes and steady hands. "Your cervix is closed, no signs of miscarriage. But you did have some bleeding, which means we need to be careful."
"What does that mean?" James asks.
"Bed rest for the next two weeks, minimum. No heavy l
