Pieces of the Present - [Danona] Book Two ✓

15. roots before branches

Twenty-five weeks. More doctors appointments in the last two weeks than she had for the entire first half of her pregnancy. Different prognoses with every second, third, and fourth opinion she had.

She wasn't exactly sure where she had found the energy to keep loading and unloading herself in the car. To shut the door and open it repeatedly, stepping into different hospitals and offices. Everything about her was to the point of pure exhaustion.

She stayed silent, barely muttering three words within the past two weeks. Simple answers with every question. Yes, no, maybe. Just the thought of opening her mouth to force out the words made her so much more tired.

But sleep was sparse. Nights filled with insomnia, too tired and unmotivated to even toss and turn. Most would say that the light had completely disappeared from her eyes. They weren't wrong. It felt like a part of her had died that day. Only so many pieces of herself could be chopped off before she was made up of nothing.

Her days were spent sitting in the chair that looked out from her bedroom window. Her knees pressed up as close to her chest as they could get. The growing belly was becoming more and more of an obstacle in her way. Alongside the subtle kicks from underneath the bump, she watched as the month of March faded away.

Ever so often, as the days blended into the nights, her hand would rest gently against her stomach. She would feel the kicks and movements against her palm, her heart dropping with terror each time. With each thud, she wondered if this was it. Was that the kick that intertwined the baby's leg with one of the bands? Or would it be an arm? Would it be the next time she felt movement, would that be when those goddamn strands attached and started to do their damage?

So, she moved as little as possible. She knew that her movements had nothing to do with this. But deep down in the back of her mind, she thought that maybe if she didn't move, it would make it less likely that the bands would grip against her baby's skin. Or maybe it was because she was so tired she couldn't move even if she wanted to.

She wasn't any closer to making a decision for when the baby would be born. In fact, it felt as if she had taken at least eight steps backward from making a decision. She had spent the first twenty-three weeks beating herself up over not being able to choose, so she had cut herself some slack for the previous two. She had bigger fish to fry at this point.

Her father had let up on her too. He had been so on edge, waiting for her final say in the situation so he and Winona could start whatever process of acceptance it would take for them to move forward. From his lack of pressuring her to choose, she took it as a sign that he was cutting her some slack too.

Even after the fight, she admitted to herself that she was grateful for them. Some parents wouldn't even give their kid an option. He just wanted to know what hers was, not to persuade her. And after the diagnosis, they had done all they could do. They gave her space, they reminded her that they were there for her when she was ready. It went without saying that she really did appreciate it. They loved her deeply, she knew that much.