Page 255 of Before Dawn

It started early, just after dawn, when the first light crept into the room. I woke to the sound of her retching in the bathroom, my heart dropping immediately. She’d been sick on and off for weeks, but this was different.There was a desperation in the way she hunched over the toilet, clutching the edge like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Hey,” I said softly, not wanting to startle her. “Do you need anything?”

She didn’t look up, just shook her head, her tangled curls falling around her face. “I just… I can’t,” she whispered before another wave hit her.

I knelt beside her, rubbing her back, my gut twisting with each heave. I wished I could take it all away, do anything to make it better. But all I could do was be there. It felt like nothing.

After what felt like an eternity, the sickness seemed to subside, and she slumped back against the wall, exhausted. Her face was pale, her green eyes hollow with strain. “I’m so tired,” she muttered, her voice weak.

“I know, mi reina,” I whispered, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead. “Let’s get you back to bed, okay?”

She nodded weakly, and I helped her to her feet. But as soon as she saw the bed, panic flashed in her eyes. “No,” she said, voice shaking. “I can’t lie down. It’ll just start again.”

I tried to reassure her, but fear had already taken hold, and it broke something inside me to see her so scared. I finally got her to sit on the edge of the bed, but she was tense, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

“What can I do?” I asked, desperate to help.

She looked at me, tears welling in her eyes, and whispered, “I don’t know. I just want this pain to stop. I’m losing my mind.”

I’d never seen her so defeated, so worn down. I sat beside her, unsure of what to say. “You’ll get through this,” I tried, but it sounded hollow even to me. “I’m right here with you.”

“How can you say that when I can’t even keep water down?” Her eyes searched mine for something—hope, maybe. “I don’t feel strong enough for this.”

“You are strong enough,” I said firmly, trying to will my belief into her. “You’re the strongest person I know, even if you don’t feel like it right now.”

But nothing I said seemed to help. The rest of the day passed in a blur of nausea, tears, and frustration. Every time she tried to eat or drink, it came right back up. By evening, she was drained, both physically and emotionally.

I did my best to stay calm, to be her anchor, but inside, I was unraveling. Every suggestion I made was met with resistance. She didn’t want to see Dr.Sang anymore. She didn’t want any more remedies from her best friend or our mothers.

Later in the day, she broke down completely. We were sitting on the couch, her head in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Her tears seemed to come from a place of pure exhaustion and despair.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she repeated, and all I could do was hold her tighter. “I love our baby, but I’m so defeated.”

“You can,” I whispered, even though I was terrified she might be right. “You’ve made it this far. We’ll take it one day at a time. I’m here with you, baby.”

The day felt endless, each minute dragging by with no relief in sight. By the time night fell, she was barely able to keep her eyes open. I managed to get her to drink a little water and eat half a Chipotle bowl before she finally collapsed into bed.

I watched her sleep, her face still drawn from the strain of the day. And in that moment, I had never felt more helpless in my life. The woman I loved was suffering, and all I could do was be there, hoping that would be enough.

I thought back to how far we’d come—almost full term now, and Abigail was doing so much better. The penthouse had truly become our home. She’d insisted we stay, confident we could grow our family there. The nursery was ready—pastel blankets on the crib, tiny shoes lined up, and a cozy rocking chair by the window.

With everything in place, there was only one thing left to do, and it had to be tonight. My heart raced as the weight of it hit me. I’d planned every detail, but nerves wouldn’t let up. We’d come so far, and now, on the edge of the life we’d dreamed of, I knew it was time to take the next step. I’d been ready to marry her the moment I first saw her four and a half years ago.

When I got home, bouquet of primroses in hand, the penthouse was unusually quiet. I dropped my keys and headed upstairs. Pausing at our bedroom door, I took a deep breath before stepping inside. There she was, sitting on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands. She looked exhausted but still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

Her skin glowed, her hair pinned up in a messy bun—the same hair that had caught my attention when we first met.My Red.

She wore a simple dress that hugged her curves, showcasing her eight-month belly. I couldn’t help but smile at her.

I walked over to her, eyes locked on hers. She looked up, tension evident in her gaze. “Mi vida,216” I whispered, sitting beside her. “Are you okay?”

She tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Instead, they welled with tears. “I’m a bit nervous,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s been so long since we’ve been out like this. I’m just overwhelmed.”

I felt a pang in my chest as I rubbed her belly, feeling our baby move beneath my hand. “You’ll be okay.” I leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Breathe, okay? Just breathe.”

Her body trembled with the weight of it all, and I pulled her closer, resting my hand on her belly. “You’ve been doing so great,” I told her, my voice firm but gentle. “Look how far you’ve come. Eight months. We’re almost there. Just a few more weeks.”

She nodded, though I could tell she was still unsettled. “You’re a superwoman for carrying our baby and still holding onto hope after everything. I’m so proud of you.”

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