As if I could control the fear and pain I was feeling.
Now here I am, hooked up to IVs, fighting every hour to keep my babies safe. The doctors say I need to stay here until I give birth to avoid further complications.
I feel desperate, trying to reach James, hoping he will come back to support me.
But his phone is always out of service.
His mother will not answer my calls either.
A terrible thought creeps into my mind.
Did they plan this?
How am I supposed to stay here alone?
I do not even have anyone to bring me my things.
Thankfully, I managed to save a little money from renting out my apartment, but it is barely enough for a few weeks, let alone medication, baby supplies, and everything else that is coming.
As I lie here listening to the steady beep of the monitors, I cannot stop thinking about the girls I knew at the orphanage. So many of them ended up in situations like this. Alone. Scared. With no one to help them.
I always thought I would be different.
That I would find love and build my own family.
Here I am, married, yet feeling more alone than ever.
But as I feel a flutter in my belly, a reminder of the precious lives I am carrying, I gather my strength.
I may not have the family I dreamed of, but I will be the mother these babies deserve.
I will fight for them with everything I have.
Even if I have to do it alone.
This is not the life I imagined.
But it is mine.
And I refuse to let it break me.
Days blur together as I lie in my hospital bed feeling lonelier than ever before. No visitors. No calls. Just silence.
A terrible thought starts growing in my heart like a weed, choking out any hope I have left.
Had James really abandoned me?
Had he changed his number?
It seems unreal that we have not been able to reach each other for days, yet here I am, alone.
I bury my face in my pillow, tears soaking the thin fabric. My nerves are frayed, and I am losing hope.
The other patients, bless them, try to comfort me with shared fruit and kind words. I even make a friend, Joyce Meyer, a sweet nurse’s aide who takes pity on me. She chats with me, tries to lift my spirits, sometimes bringing homemade meals, which are a blessing compared to the bland hospital food.
But nothing can ease the deep ache in my soul.
I am about to give birth, and my husband is nowhere to be found.
In desperation, I turn to Joyce, pleading for her help. I tell her how exhausted I am, how I fear something terrible has happened to James.
“Why has he vanished?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “Where could he have gone? He wouldn’t leave me here forever. We’re married, aren’t we?”
The words taste bitter as I speak them, voicing my deepest fear.
What if something had happened?
I hand Joyce a note and beg her to deliver it to his address.
“Please. I need to know. I think I’ll go mad with these thoughts.”
Joyce, bless her heart, agrees to help and promises to go after her next shift.
I wait anxiously, torn between hope and dread.
But when Joyce returns, her news hits me like a physical blow.
She tells me she saw James alive and well leaving the mansion with another woman. When she approached him with my note, he looked at her strangely, then at the woman in blue beside him, and told Joyce she must have the wrong address.
That he did not know anyone named Olivia.