I fidgeted a little when we were stopped a few times during our exit. Nicholas conversed with the politicians, athletes, and businessmen who wanted to shake his hand. All evening long, I’d gotten side glances and curious stares, almost everyone simply interested to see Nicholas Rowe’s pregnant, young wife. But I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched.
It wasn’t from Hector. After his surprise attack, I never saw him again all night. And both Simon and Rosemary were in attendance, yet it seemed they were doing their part to ignore us.
We were just about to leave when we heard someone call. “Jefferson! Nicholas!”
We all let out a collective sigh of frustration at another interruption, but Nicholas kissed my cheek and squeezed my hand. “It’s the mayor. Give me just a second.”
I nodded. “It’s okay. Go ahead.”
“I’ll take her to the washroom and then to the car. We’ll wait for you inside. It’s cold out here,” Clara said.
Nicholas hesitated, but agreed and hurried over to be polite.
Being pregnant also meant being able to pee whenever I saw a washroom or heard the water running, so I freshened up and was just drying my hands when I heard the fast-approaching sound of heels. I turned towards the noise and wasn’t surprised to see Rosemary charging in my direction.
I had expected her to stop, but she didn’t, she pushed aside Clara and barreled in my direction. Instinctively, I put my hands to cover my bulging belly as she spewed nonsensical words.
Her face was a mixture of rage and insanity. I was frozen and trapped. Clara tried everything to ward Rosemary off, but it didn’t matter. Nothing was stopping her.
“You bitch! You ruined everything!”
She grabbed onto my hair and shoved my head hard, causing me to lose balance. I felt a sharp blow to my head and felt the pain radiate through my head as I fell to the ground.
I heard Clara’s screams and the sound of approaching steps and panic. I heard Nicholas shout my name. And those were the last things I heard before everything went dark.
Time passed. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. There were moments when I was aware of my surroundings. Moments when I could hear and understand the people near me. Then there were other times when I felt like I was dreaming. My dreams were wild fantasies, full of colors and shapes: people, places, and things I knew even then weren’t real. Almost like I had fallen down my own rabbit hole.
The dreams were nice. There was no pain, no wondering about why I was wherever I was. But my favorite times were when I heard my Nicholas. Just his voice alone kept me calm and happy, although I wanted nothing more than to be able to answer him. See him. Hug and kiss him.
He would tell me how much he loved me. He would talk about how much everyone missed me. And Laura. About Courtney and Lory wanting to take me out. How Virgil missed his little sister.
It was best when he would talk about our family. Our friends. But as time went by, sadness began clinging to his words. Grief. Desperation. The enormity of his anguish was seeping into me. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t ‘t figure out how to fix it.
My heart ached when he would plead and beg. I tried to do what he asked, but my body wouldn’t obey my mind.
“Willow, please. Please open your eyes. Wake up, baby. Look at me.” I tried.
It wouldn’t work. “Squeeze my hand. Blink. Do anything. Baby, please. Come back.”
I felt his hand gripping mine, his lips kissing my cheeks. My forehead. As the devastation in his voice grew, so did my determination to respond in some way.
It was quiet again, but I knew he was there. Maybe he never left. The pains and aches in my body were more pronounced, but the cobwebs in my head seemed to have somewhat dissipated. It was clear to me I had been injured, I just didn’t know to what extent.
My biggest fear, aside from Nicholas’ obvious worry, was for my baby. I willed my arm to move, so I could feel my stomach. Make sure our child was still there. I wanted to cry out in frustration when it didn’t work. It scared me that I couldn’t feel any kicks or movement at all.
When was the last time I felt him move? The possibility I’d lost the baby hurt more than any bruises or broken bones I may have had. A heart-wrenching sob interrupted my thoughts.
It was Nicholas and the sound of rock bottom. I’d never heard him so upset, and it tore me apart. Every heaving gasp and tortured cry was like a rip to my insides.
“I’m sorry. So sorry for everything.” It was like he was on repeat, telling me over and over he was sorry and he loved me.
He placed my hand between his, his warm tears hitting my skin. I would have given anything, done anything to take away the sound of his pain. It was something I never wanted to hear again.
I summoned every ounce of focus I had, trying to squeeze his hand. Everything went quiet again.
“Willow? Did your fingers just move? Can you hear me?” He massaged my hand, his raspy voice tinged with hope. “Move them again, baby. Please let me know if you can hear me. Come on. You can do this.”
And I did.
There was a renewed energy inside me, sparked by Nicholas’ excitement from my initial responses. I wanted nothing more than to sit up, open my eyes, and throw my arms around him.
But it didn’t work like that. Not even close. My recovery was a slow, exhausting battle of two steps forward, one step back. At first, it was difficult for me to maintain focus for very long at all before succumbing to darkness again.