Chapter 7 - The Day Raymond Felt the Babies Move
At nineteen weeks, I was admitted overnight after contractions that thankfully proved harmless. Raymond found out through legal notice because marital insurance still covered part of my care. He asked permission to visit. I said yes for thirty minutes.
When he entered, I almost did not recognize him.
No tie.
No driver.
No billionaire armor.
He held a paper bag.
“More lemon candies?”
“Yes.”
“You’re becoming predictable.”
“Trying something new.”
He sat far from the bed until I gestured toward the chair.
For several minutes we discussed nothing important.
Then Baby B kicked hard enough to move my gown.
I instinctively put my hand there.
Raymond saw.
His face changed.
“Was that—”
“Yes.”
He stood, then stopped himself.
“May I?”
I hesitated.
Eleven years of marriage.
One suitcase.
Three babies.
Everything between.
I nodded.
He placed his palm carefully against my abdomen.
Nothing happened.
He smiled sadly.
“They already hate me.”
“Smart children.”
Then two kicks came almost together.
Raymond’s eyes filled instantly.
“Oh.”
Just that.
Oh.
He lowered his head.
“I’m sorry.”
I had heard apology before.
This one was not asking for forgiveness.
Maybe that was why I believed it.
“I can’t undo the gate,” he said.
“No.”
“I can’t undo Isabelle.”
“No.”
“I can’t undo letting my mother turn our marriage into succession.”
“No.”
“I don’t know what I’m allowed to hope for.”
I looked at him.
“Healthy babies.”
He nodded.
May you like
“That’s enough.”
For now, it was.
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