I drove to Harrowmill.
The entire way, she kept one hand on her stomach.
I kept looking at her at every red light.
“Talk to me.”
“I’m here.”
“Are you dizzy?”
“No.”
“Does the baby feel normal?”
She nodded.
I reached for her hand.
She squeezed it.
But she wouldn’t look at me.
At the hospital, they took her straight through.
The baby was monitored.
Her blood pressure was checked.
A doctor examined her mouth.
Then another doctor came in.
The baby was fine.
That was the first sentence that made me breathe again.
The injury in Maia’s mouth was small.
A cut caused by one of the fish bones.
But when the doctor examined her more carefully, her expression changed.
She touched the side of Maia’s ribs.
“Does this hurt?”
Maia hesitated.
“A little.”
“How long?”
Maia looked at me.
Then away.
The doctor asked again.
“How long has that area been painful?”
“A while.”
The doctor frowned.
She ordered an X-ray.
I thought nothing of it.
Until she came back.
She pulled up a chair.
“Maia, there is evidence of an older injury here.”
I looked at my wife.
“What injury?”
Maia said nothing.
The doctor looked at me.
