"Honey, I'll be right outside. You've got this."
"Honey—"
Derek jogged alongside the gurney as it rolled through the corridor, his hand locked around mine, his face tight with worry. Beads of sweat glistened at his temples—proof, to anyone watching, of how deeply he loved his wife and unborn child.
Every person we passed looked at him with admiration. Envy, even.
I was the only one drenched in cold sweat, and it had nothing to do with the contractions.
The sweat was for Derek.
He played the devoted husband like a master performer—every line rehearsed, every gesture pitch-perfect.
That face. That earnest, loving face. It had fooled me for five years.
Now all I had to do was think about that wrapper, and my stomach turned inside out.
At the operating room doors, the nurses stopped him.
"Doctor—nurses—my wife is terrified of pain. Please, please take care of her..."
His voice shook. The raw, anguished worry on his face was enough to move anyone.
Inside, the midwife prepped instruments while chatting with me, trying to ease my nerves.
"You and your husband must have a wonderful relationship. A man that devoted? We don't see that often around here."