“Come on, you look like you’re still pregnant.”
Ryan came into the bedroom that night with two pairs of sneakers in his hand.
He set mine on the floor beside the bed like a verdict.
“Five thirty,” he said. “Be ready. We’re going running.”
“Ryan, the doctor literally said—”
“The doctor doesn’t have to look at you across the dinner table.”
He climbed under the covers and turned his back to me.
“Be ready. We’re going running.”
Just like that.
As if he had not driven a knife clean through the center of my chest.
***
At five thirty, the alarm blared.
Ryan handed me the baby for a quick feeding, then took him back the second he was full.
“Get dressed. Five minutes,” he said. “I’ll wake Lily to babysit.”
And that was when it hit me that he fully expected me to go running, and wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“Get dressed. Five minutes,”
When I entered the hall, he was waiting at the front door with the car keys.
“Go.” He pointed at the door.
“Aren’t you running, too?”
“I’m not the one who needs to lose weight. I’ll be following you in the car.”
I stepped out onto the porch.
I thought that once Ryan saw me struggling, he’d come to his senses.
I was wrong.
“I’ll be following you in the car.”
Every instinct screamed that I should be back inside, curled around my newborn.
I took one tentative step, then another.
Pain shot through my belly so sharply that I sucked in a breath.
Behind me, Ryan started the BMW.
The engine settled into a low purr as he pulled to the curb behind me.
The horn blared.
Pain shot through my belly
“Keep moving,” Ryan yelled out the window.
I stumbled into a slow jog.
Tears sprang to my eyes as pain carved across my belly.
When I reached the corner, I stopped.
I turned around.
“What are you doing?” Ryan called from the car.
“Keep moving,”
“I’m done,” I said, my voice trembling from the pain.
“You’ve just started! Keep going.”
I stared at him, sitting in his car.
It was bad enough that he was forcing me to go against my doctor’s orders.
But how far was he going to take this?
“Ryan, I can’t—”
