Nick’s knees literally buckled underneath him and the color drained from his face. “The what?” has rasped as he lowered himself onto the couch behind him.

Dr. Andrews raised an eyebrow. “I take it you didn’t know she was pregnant?”

“No,” Nick answered quietly. He buried his buried his face in his hands then ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I don’t think she knew either.” In Nick’s mind, there was no way she could have possibly known she was pregnant based on the way she’d carried herself around him the previous day. She seemed too comfortable to be hiding a secret like that.

“That would explain her confusion as we were taking her to surgery, then. She regained consciousness after we transfused some blood, and I was able to explain to her what was going on, but she didn’t take it well. It’s a little odd to me that she didn’t realize she might be pregnant. She was eight weeks along, so most women would have missed two periods by now. Though, based on the fact that she only has one ovary, I’d guess she was pretty irregular, so maybe it’s not that much of a stretch to say she was unaware.”

“Oh my God....” The gravity of the situation started to sink in for Nick, grief weighing heavily on his shoulders. “When can I see her?”

“She’s still sedated from the procedure, but I expect that the anesthesia will wear off within the next hour or so. After I examine her, we’ll be moving her up to the third floor. Usually, a D&C would be considered an outpatient procedure and we’d be sending her home, but considering the extent of her blood loss, I’d like to keep her at least overnight to monitor her hemoglobin and hematocrit-- her blood counts-- to make sure they don’t drop back down to critical levels. She’s naturally going to be a little anemic for a while, but I think watching her from an impatient perspective would be wise after what her body's been through today. You can check in on her after we move her.”

Nick gave her a silent nod. “Thank you.” Dr. Andrews gave him a sympathetic smile and walked out. He glanced across the waiting room to find Emma sitting with Drew and playing “pat-a-cake." Once he was assured that Drew was okay, he broke down. He turned his back to them and pulled his knees up to his chest, creating the perfect “shelf” to bury his face in to hide his tears. He had no idea what to say to Annie, and couldn’t help feeling like this was all his fault. The idea of using protection hadn’t even crossed his enamored mind that night on the cruise. He was well aware that it only took one time to conceive a child, but the thought that she might have gotten pregnant was just some distant unreality he had never even considered. This, however, was reality, and reality was very, very bad.

He was pulled back from his silent reverie by the sound of a phone ringing, and it wasn’t his. He recalled that he’d seen Annie’s phone in the diaper bag and lunged for it, not sure whether he was going to answer or not. When he saw the name lit up on the screen, he let out a tortured sigh. Brian.

_________________________________________________________________________

Nick took slow, tentative steps from the elevator to the counter at the nurse’s station on the third floor. “Can I help you, sir?” a pleasant, older woman asked, eyeing him above the rims of her reading glasses

“I’m looking for Annie Morgan,” he said hoarsely.

She glanced at her computer screen. “I don’t see anyone by that name...”

“Andrea Morgan. Her real name’s Andrea,” he corrected himself.

She nodded and pointed to her left. “She’s in room 324.”

Her door was closed, and Nick took in a long, shuddery breath and let it out before he grasped the handle and pushed it open carefully. “Annie-” His voice cracked when he saw her. Sunlight streamed through the window blinds and cut across her pale face, highlighting the dried tear tracks that ran down her cheeks, made darker by remnants of mascara she hadn’t removed before falling asleep the night before.

“Where’s Drew?” she asked immediately.

Nick closed the door behind him and crossed the room to her bed. “Drew’s fine. I called the babysitter. She picked him up a few minutes ago.”

“How’d you know her number?” she asked, her voice flat.

“In your cell phone, it says ‘Ashleigh- the babysitter’.” He gave her a cautious smirk, but she just stared at him blankly in return.

“Oh.”

“Annie....” He placed his hand over hers, but she jerked it away.

“Go away, Nick,” she spat, her eyes never meeting his.

“Annie, don’t do this,” he pleaded with her. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. This wasn’t your doing.”

“Well, not exactly, but.....”

“Brian!” she exclaimed abruptly. “I need to call Brian. We were supposed to do that radio show today.”

"He called about half an hour ago."

"Wh-what did you tell him?" she stammered, looking up at Nick with wide eyes.

"He thinks you have the flu," he assured her.

"Good. That's good." She rolled over and gathered her pillow into her arms, turning her back to him.

He sighed and leaned over the bed railing to gently run his fingers through the mess of curls on the back of her head. She tensed and shrugged him off. "I'm sure you're exhausted," he soothed. "We don't have to talk about it right now if you don't want to."

"There's nothing to talk about, Nick."

"Annie, you know that's not true...."

"What is there to say, Nick?” She sat up and turned towards him hastily. "I'm a frickin doctor and didn't even know I was pregnant!"

"Well, Doctor Andrews said...."

"I don't want to talk about Dr. Andrews!" she hissed

Nick held up his hands in defense. "Okay! Sorry. We won't talk about Dr. Andrews.” He had no idea where the disdain for the doctor who may have very well saved her life came from. “Like I said, we don't have to talk about it right now, but we are going to have to talk about it."

"I already told you, Nick. There's nothing to talk about.” She winced and placed her hand on her lower abdomen, curling her knees up towards her chest.

He immediately jumped to attention, hovering over her as if she were a small child and he the overprotective father. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"I need a nurse. Tell her to bring me something for the pain."

"Absolutely." He started heading for the door. "Anything else?"

"I need you to leave."

___________________________________________________________________________________

Nick trudged through the back door tiredly and dropped Annie's keys on the kitchen counter where he'd found them that morning. The patient belongings bag that held his soiled clothing from that morning dropped to the tile floor as he placed his hands on his hips and scanned the room. It was like she had invaded every corner and crevice of his house. Unassembled sippy cups lay in the wire dish rack by the sink and a half-burned scented candle rested in the window sill. A green cardigan sweater was draped across the back of a kitchen chair, and her purse was on a hook by the back door. She’d fallen asleep in his arms the night before, yet, she had practically had him thrown out of her hospital room half an hour ago. He eyed the small corner cabinet he’d used as a liquor cabinet for the rare occasion that he still drank, and tried to remember whether or not he still had anything stashed in there. Moments later, he was pouring himself a double shot of whiskey, knowing he wouldn’t be able to do what he was about to do next sober. He tossed the drink back with downed it one gulp, the whiskey burning his esophagus all the way down. Then he poured himself another.

He took his third glass upstairs with him and set it on Annie’s nightstand while he fell to his knees and attempted to scrub the blood stains out of the carpet. Hot tears fell down his face and dripped onto the carpet, mingling with the strong cleaning solution he found under the kitchen sink. After several minutes of hard scrubbing with limited success, he raised himself up to sit on the edge of her bed and take a few more sips of alcohol. While he drank, his eyes settled on a framed 5x7 on the dresser of Annie smiling warmly and cradling a brand-new baby Drew in her arms. He paused with his glass of whiskey hovering just short of his lips and in his mind, contrasted the Annie in the picture with the one he’d left at the hospital that afternoon. The day’s events, combined with other painful memories, played over and over in his mind like a movie as exhaustion and sadness eventually gave way to anger. He clenched the short glass of whiskey in his fist and hurled it at the wall on the opposite side of the room. It shattered into a thousand little fragments and fell to the floor, the amber liquid dripping down the wall. Then, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and did something he never imagined he’d do again. He called Lauren.

“Nick?” her startled voice answered after only two rings.

“Lauren-” he slurred.

“Nick, are you drunk?”

“I need to ask you a question.”

“Okay....”

“What was it exactly that made you think I’d be a terrible father?”