Chapter 8
Glasses clinked and silverware clattered against China, all familiar noises that Lydia normally tuned out, but sitting across the table from her mother, next to her father at the head of the table and right beside her husband, with Henry and his beloved peacock only a few seats away, Lydia seemed hyper-focused on every noise, every movement, and despite Isaac’s reassuring hand on her leg beneath the table, anxiety crept up inside her, tempting her to drop her napkin, push back her chair, and run for the door.
It had been two weeks since she’d lost the baby, and just as Dr. Grigsby had predicted it had been uncomfortable, but otherwise hardly noticeable. If she hadn’t known it was her child, she might’ve thought it was just a blood clot, nothing more significant than a group of
