Chapter 1 - The Chair
"Don't you dare touch me!" I heard myself shout, but I was already falling.
Linda had both hands on the back of my chair. She yanked it out from under me so hard that one metal leg squealed across the tile. I hit the arm of the chair beside me, caught myself with my right hand, and landed crooked on the floor. Pain shot through my wrist and hip. At thirty-four weeks pregnant, I couldn't even see my feet without leaning forward. Now I could think about only one thing.
My daughter wasn't moving.
Daniel was sitting six inches away. He saw his mother pull the chair. I knew he saw because his coffee stopped halfway to his mouth.
"Did you see what she did?" I asked.
He lowered the cup. "Emily, just stay calm."
Linda straightened her cardigan. "She sat down too fast. I barely touched it."
"I was already sitting!"
A gray-haired woman across the waiting room covered her mouth. Somebody muttered, "Oh my God." A nurse in navy scrubs hurried around the reception desk.
"Don't get up," she told me. "I'm Tasha. Where did you hit?"
"My hip. My hand. Please, I haven't felt the baby."
That last sentence seemed to empty all the sound from the room. Tasha crouched beside me, one hand steady on my shoulder as she reached for her radio.
Linda stepped closer. "I'm her mother-in-law. I can explain."
"Ma'am, back away," Tasha said.
"I said I'm family."
Tasha looked up. "I said give her space."
Daniel finally knelt beside me. He reached for my hand, then drew back when I flinched. Linda stood behind him, still annoyed that nobody had offered her a seat.
"Emily," Daniel whispered, "Mom didn't mean--"
"Don't finish that sentence."
Tasha waved another nurse over with a wheelchair. "We need fetal monitoring now."
I tried to count backward from ten while they helped me up. Ten. Nine. Eight. No flutter beneath my ribs. No familiar little kick.
At the examination-room door, Tasha turned to her coworker. "Call Dr. Patel. Tell her we're checking for trauma."
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Then she looked at the monitor waiting beside the bed, and I saw the seriousness in her eyes.
She hadn't heard my daughter's heartbeat yet.
