Chapter 1 - The Brochure on the Counter
MY HUSBAND CAME BACK FROM HIS CRUISE With His Girlfriend On His Arm — Then A Stranger In A Gray Suit Walked Straight Up To Him
When my husband boarded a four-month luxury cruise three days after my doctor put me on bed rest for a high-risk triplet pregnancy, I told myself he was just selfish. Not dangerous. I hadn't figured out yet that the cruise was only the part of the damage I could actually see.
The brochure sat on our kitchen counter for three days before I let myself believe it was real.
Marcus kept picking it up, reading the letter again, running his thumb over the glossy photos of turquoise water. He said he'd won it through a sales contest at work — Cornell-Briggs Freight ran one every year. Four months aboard a Marisol Cruise Lines ship. Meals included. Island stops included. The kind of trip people like us only ever saw in commercials.
"Something finally went our way," he said.
Two weeks later, we were sitting in Dr. Whitfield's office, both of us staring at a monitor.
I never saw the company announcement myself. All I ever had was that printed letter Marcus kept rereading at the kitchen table.
"Nora," Dr. Whitfield said, turning the screen toward me, "you're carrying triplets."
Marcus let out a shocked little laugh. "Triplets? All three?"
"All three. And your blood pressure is running very high. With multiples, that pushes you into high-risk territory fast." She set down her pen. "If we want to keep these babies where they belong as long as possible, strict bed rest gives us the best odds."
My mouth went dry. "For how long?"
"You're twenty-four weeks today. For as long as you can safely stay pregnant."
"Then we cancel the cruise," I said.
Marcus didn't answer. He was looking at the brochure sticking out of the side pocket of his briefcase.
In the car, he loosened his tie. "We don't have to figure this out this second."
"I already have," I said. "I'm twenty-four weeks pregnant with triplets. There is no trip."
"I already put in for the time off."
I turned in my seat as far as the belt would let me. "Marcus."
"I just need a minute with it, okay?"
What he needed, apparently, was an hour. That evening I heard the closet door bang against the wall and the long rip of a suitcase zipper.
He came halfway down the hall with the bag in one hand.
I pushed myself up off the couch. "What are you doing?"
"Packing."
For a second I genuinely didn't follow. "Packing for what?"
"The ship leaves in three days."
I stared at him. He set the suitcase down and dragged a hand over his face.
"You cannot be serious."
"Nora, hear me out before you start crying."
"Before I start crying?"
"This was supposed to be our one good thing." His voice climbed. "It's been one bill after another, one problem after another, for two years straight. And now it's three babies and you flat on your back for four months."
I pressed my hand flat against my belly. "Those are our daughters."
"Maybe I go. I come back rested. Then we deal with all of it together."
"You want to leave your pregnant wife on bed rest so you can clear your head."
"I'll call. I'll check in every single day. I'm not vanishing off the face of the earth."
"Who drives me if something goes wrong? Who buys groceries? Who cooks?"
He shrugged. Actually shrugged. "You always figure it out. You're good at that."
"Please don't go."
May you like
"I need this, Nora."
Then he walked out the door.
