The Sleepwalker by L C George

Author:L C George [George, L C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-25T16:00:00+00:00

37

TESSA

TEN MONTHS PREVIOUS

I clasped the phone to my ear. “Okay, I understand.” I sighed. I did not understand, actually, and wanted to scream. “Thank you.”

I hung up and met Sam’s eye. He stared at me, waiting, having only heard my side of the conversation. I sighed again. “They said they couldn’t offer an earlier scan. They’re jam-packed and can only accommodate extra scans in an urgent situation.”

Sam’s brow creased, and he opened his mouth to say something. I cut him off.

“They don’t consider me an urgent case because I don’t have any pain or bleeding. No sign that anything is wrong.” The last words came out with anger. I was glad that was the case, but I was equally desperate to be certain.

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it – probably aware that nothing he could say would be the right thing. My mood had suddenly turned dark, and I couldn’t stand to look at him gawping like a fish out of water anymore. I stood, scraping my chair back across the kitchen floor. Sam jumped.

“I’m going for a lie-down,” I muttered as I made to leave the room.

I’d gotten as far as the doorway when Sam’s quiet voice stopped me.

“What did I do?” His voice rang with trepidation. I didn’t answer, keeping my back to him.

“You’ll barely let me near you, and I know you lied to the paramedics.” His voice was wrenched. Some part of him had to know, I thought, but he needed to hear it out loud, to be sure. I’d told the paramedics I had gotten up in the dark to use the toilet, and somehow knocked my stomach with the door handle. My worry about the baby brought on the panic attack. Sam awoke to find me overcome, so he called for help.

The story of the door sounded far-fetched even to me, but something had stopped me from telling the truth. Embarrassment – fear of them making assumptions about my relationship with my husband, fear that they might think my unborn child was in danger and shouldn’t be left with us.

The paramedics thought me neurotic and gently explained that it would be very difficult to hit myself hard enough to hurt the baby.

But I knew the truth. It hadn’t been a slight knock; it had been a blow inflicted on me by my husband.

I turned slowly in the kitchen doorway, gradually lifting my eyes to meet my Sam’s. They were brimming with anguish, bloodshot against his deathly pale cheeks.

“You’re right. I didn’t bump into the door, Sam.” I delivered the truth with as much empathy as I could, feeling an ache of sorrow for him. It really wasn’t his fault.

“You were having one of your nightmares, and you hit out at me in your sleep.” I softened my words, hoping to make them less painful. My sympathy surged at his look of horror, rattling me.

“We both know it wasn’t your fault. I’m sure the hospital’s right and that everything’s absolutely fine.” His face remained a mask of agony despite my attempt at a smile.

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