Misty
Two weeks after Georgia asked me to be her matron of honor, technically, at her wedding next fall, I wake up with a start–alone–in the cottage I share with Cole.
It’s the middle of the night, and Cole’s at the hospital. His side of the bed is cold when I stretch my arm across it, pinching the sheets between my fingers. Echoes of pain drift in waves over my belly. My muscles are painfully tight as I roll onto my side, curling around the swell of my stomach.
It hurts enough that it’s hard to catch my breath, and when I finally do, I feel… a pop, deep within me.
“Oh, Goddess,” I rasp, sliding out of bed as my water breaks, soaking the sheets and falling onto the floor. My hands tremble, and my mind goes completely, utterly numb while I take the comforter off the bed and waddle to
