Page 33 of Mine to Worship

“You’re really doing it. But…”

Every muscle inside me stiffens with the blatant truth. I ruined her, us. Why would she want anything to do with me?

“No buts. I’ve punished her enough by getting her pregnant.”

“Kian…”

He tries to reason with me, but I am resolute. I owe her at least that. I love her too much to chain her to me.

Misery owns me, and I let it. It’s what a monster deserves.

Two terrible days later, my heart pounds in sheer panic when I see Esther’s name flash on my screen.

“Is Ellia all right?” I jump to my feet, eating the distance to my door, my heart shooting to my throat.

“She’s not well. The pregnancy makes her vulnerable to certain sicknesses.”

I swallow the lump of agony resting in my throat.

“Come back, she needs you.”

When she hangs up, I order a few donut boxes while I pack a small bag. Maybe when I get to her, I can be more of the support she needs and not the man she can’t forgive.

Chapter 15

Ellia

I throw my phone on the bed and prop my hip against the windowsill. My aunt has become our intermediary. Nausea hits me and I reach the bathroom in time to empty my stomach.

On the second day, I don’t even pretend to be all right anymore, because I am not. The nausea has returned fully, and I’ve barely kept anything down.

In front of the hospital, I open the door to the car and walk on shaky legs as my aunt supports me.

“I am so mad at you. I shouldn’t have left you alone,” Aunt Esther says.

Austin greets us at the entrance, takes one look at me, and his features draw in sympathy. After he checks on me, he says, “You need intravenous food. A nurse will hook you up with an IV and I’ll see you afterward.”

I offer a dejected nod. “Thank you.”

After thirty-five minutes of watching the fluid drip down to the last drop, Austin comes in. “How are you feeling,” he asks, checking my chart.

“Less nauseated,” I say, and he tells me they’re going to do an ultrasound.

I’m wheeled down the hallway and inside a sterile room, a friendly technician with gray hair does an ultrasound. On the video screen, I see my baby and strong emotions overwhelm me. That’s my baby, that white dot. Tears roll down my cheeks and my aunt holds my hand. Every strong heartbeat is divine music to my ears.

“Everything looks good,” she says with a smile.

When the consult ends, I wipe off the transparent gel. I slide off the table and back on the hospital bed where I’m hooked to a second intravenous food bag.

The next day, when we climb in the car, my aunt starts the engine while I clutch the echography picture to my chest.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come stay with us?”

“No, I am fine.”

“Ellia…”

I hate the undercurrent of worry in her voice.

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