"Leroy…" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
He didn't respond. His face was calm, eyes shut, his breath steady. Was he asleep, or pretending? She couldn't tell. His hand still rested against her abdomen, heavy and unmoving, as though protecting something… or restraining it.
Lorraine gently touched his wrist. His grip didn't ease.
Her pulse quickened. The remnants of her dream still clung to her, the echo of that baby's cry, faint yet piercing, as if from somewhere deep inside her chest. She couldn't tell where the dream ended and reality began.
For a moment, for a single excruciatingly painful and weak moment, she thought maybe her husband was trying to squeeze the life out of their baby's life.
No!
She didn't want to believe that. She refused to think that. It would be impossible for Leroy to hurt her this way. And what reason would he have to not want his own offspring, the symbol of their love, a part of him and her? There was just no way.
