some part of us resists doing so as though we
were making the first step toward disaster.”
~ William Bridges
Thursday, March 29th ~*~ Late morning and early afternoon
The formerly cool flannel that had been pressed to against the back of her neck had been discarded, yet Daphne continued to lay on the couch in her office. She stared up at the ceiling, and went over everything in her head one more time.
There couldn't be any confusion or doubt, not with something this important.
The signs had been easy to dismiss until this morning, Daphne had managed to come up with explanations for everything... Until Miguel set the platter of raw oysters between them so that they could prep the delicacies for the dinner rush. In all her years working with food, Daphne had never reacted so...
She swallowed hard, the bad taste still there at the back of her throat.
How can I be this hopeful and frightened at the same time? Daphne looked down to see her hand had come to rest against her stomach as if to protect what might be.
Harry had assured her that he did want a child, he was just scared, but this wasn't the most ideal circumstances. She was terrified too, although probably for different reasons.
Would she be a good mother? Would Harry eventually resent her and the baby, too many changes in too short of time? What if, as Harry feared, something were to happen to their child?
All of that scared her to death, but even greater was the fear that she was reading the signs wrong and that there wasn't a new life inside her.
She knew she couldn't say anything to Harry, not yet. Not until she knew for certain, one way or another. Disappointing him would break her heart.
I can't not tell anyone, I'll lose my mind.
It had been at least an hour since she'd gotten ill, and even though her thoughts were chaotic and her stomach was a little uneasy, there was work to be done.
She sat behind the desk and quickly scribbled out two letters - one to her doctor to ask for an appointment, and the other to Vera Vector.