Page 29 of His Orders

Drew exhales roughly and scrubs a hand over his face. “Do you have a plan? Appointments? Support?”

“I’m figuring it out,” I tell him. “But yes. I’m taking care of myself. And if I need help, I’ll let you know.”

There’s a beat of silence before Drew nods, grudgingly. “You'd better.”

His words are gruff, but his eyes are damp, and when he stands up, I let him wrap me in a hug that nearly cracks my ribs. That’s the thing about Drew. He shouts because he cares.

The rest of dinner feels a little lighter after that. The food helps, and the wine eases Drew. My can of pop isn’t too bad, either, although I drink pop sparingly. Eventually, Cassie teases Drew enough to make him laugh, and Blair tells me she’s already planning to make a baby quilt. When they leave, I pack them some leftovers and promise to call if anything changes. Drew gives me a look that says I’d better, then kisses my forehead and leaves with Blair, his arm around her.

I don’t cry until the door shuts behind them.

Later, I warm up some soup and sit by the window, eating slowly, watching headlights pass like ghost stories across the street. My body feels different. Heavier, but not just with exhaustion. There’s a life inside me now. A rhythm I didn’t expect to feel so deeply, so quickly. I rest my hand over my stomach, and for the first time since the hospital, I think I'm content.

Just as I’m about to crawl into bed, my phone buzzes against the countertop. Unknown number.

I hesitate, then answer.

“Ivy.”

That voice.

Every hair on my body stands up.

“Daniel,” I whisper.

His tone dips into faux-concern. “Are you alright? You haven’t been answering my messages.”

“You shouldn’t be calling me.”

“You blocked my number.” He says it like it’s an offense. “Do you know how long it took me to get this one?”

“Then I’ll block this too.”

“Ivy, please,” he says. “Can we just talk? I’ve been trying to give you space, but I need to see you. There’s too much between us to just… disappear like this.”

“There’s nothing between us,” I say quietly.

“That’s not true,” he replies, soft and persistent. “We were good together. Everyone saw it. We worked. You know we did.”

“No. You worked. You worked very hard to control every aspect of my life.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

He sighs, the sound rehearsed. “You were under a lot of pressure. We both were. That kind of stress—it warps things. I wasn’t perfect, Ivy, but neither were you.”

“You took everything from me.”

“I was trying to help.”

“No,” I snap, voice shaking now. “You were trying to own me.”

“I was protecting you.” The warmth is gone from his voice, just like that. “You were reckless, and you know it. You still are, judging by the whispers going around.”

My stomach drops.

“I don’t know what you think you’ve heard?—”

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