Eighty-eight

Thirty minutes, he said. I will be back in thirty minutes. But it feels like hours. Long painful hours of waiting for the doctor to return with the result of the blood test. Much to Brandon's annoyance, I resume pacing and he sighs, patting the space beside him. But I ignore him. It's so easy for him to sit still and act okay but everything is not. 

 

Another wistful peek at my phone, the door he walked into some minutes ago, I groan and run my hands over my face. There is no baby, I am just paranoid. Am I? He also explained spotting. Oh, God. The mood swings, lack of appetite and nausea. I shake my head and whimper, those could have been symptoms of another sickness. Yes, sickness.

 

The corridor is empty, save for us. Benches line the walls, I saunter to the door. Minutes pass, I hear Brandon calling out to me, my legs carry me back to him and I offer a smile.

 

Squatting between his legs, I sigh, his head lowers so our foreheads touch briefly