The death of me

Lilly

“T

hank you for picking me up,” I said again.

Noona drove like a goddamn maniac but it was better than taking Chance’s car. Regardless of whose name was on the title.

“I want to kill the fucker,” she growled, though it looked a tad bit comical.

“I knew Dr. Packard would see you right away,” she continued, abruptly changing subjects. “At thirty-five, you're at a higher risk.”

I sighed. “Thirty-four.”

She waved one hand, then glanced at the clock. “We’ll have five minutes to spare.”

We were ten minutes away from my OB/GYN.

“Not if you kill us with your driving in the process,” I muttered.

I had to wonder about life’s funny ways. It took me years to get pregnant with Saoirse, and took three years to get pregnant with Sierra. But apparently with Chance it took no time at all.

“I’m just so fucking mad,” she continued. “I could spit fire. I don’t understand why you’re so calm.”

I turned to gaze out the window, the blur of trees in my vision. “It wouldn’t be good for the baby to get up