Where was Kova?
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," I said. "I'm just confused. That's all."
"I can imagine you are." I looked at her, waiting for an answer. "Your father and I…well…we had seen each other earlier in the day." Her voice was soft. "He called me when you were taken in the ambulance. I met him here and have been here ever since."
My frown deepened.
"You were unconscious and bleeding. Frank didn’t know if you'd hit your head or where the blood was coming from. He said he tried to wake you up and when he couldn't…" Her voice trailed off, too stricken with emotion to finish. "Well, you know the rest."
Her words replayed in my head. My chest rose higher and faster. My dad hadn’t known where the blood came from?
I glanced down at my arms. White gauze bandages were wrapped in various places, including around my arm in the sling. They probably covered injuries I’d sustained when I crashed into the glass table and took down the décor with me. I remembered hitting my head. I remembered feeling warm blood pool around me. At the time, I'd assumed it was from the shards of glass. Now, I wasn't so sure. There had been too much blood.
Tears blurred my eyes and my jaw quivered. Gripping the starched white bed sheets in my hand, I trembled as I fought with myself. I didn't want to pull the sheet back and see blood. If I did, then that would confirm my worst nightmare and I’d know the truth of what had really caused the bleeding.
Sophia walked over to me and placed her hand over mine. I swallowed hard and looked up at her. I could see the indecision in her eyes and how this was the last thing she wanted for me. I could tell she really wanted to help me but was hesitant as to how. What role in my life would she play?
My breathing grew ragged as I fisted the blanket tighter. I didn't have to ask, and she didn't have to answer. It was a given that if she was here, then Dad had told her everything. My chest strained with raw emotion as the look in my birth mother’s eyes confirmed my fear. Her face slowly fell.
Silent tears streamed down my cheeks as the truth set in. Sophia's gaze filled with sympathy. I wanted her to hug me, to tell me everything would be okay. I shouldn't feel a sense of loss, and I shouldn't be upset since this is essentially what I wanted.
But I was, and I did.
I'd had a miscarriage. I'd lost my baby.
I didn’t need anyone to confirm it for me. I felt it.
Placing a hand over my stomach, I closed my eyes and tried to feel for something, a signal I was wrong and just being paranoid. There was nothing. Had I felt one before?
I didn't want to answer that.
While I may not have intended to have the baby initially, up until I walked into a clinic and had the procedure done, the choice was not final and still mine to make. Mine to keep a child, mine to say goodbye to when I was ready. Then there was Kova's choice too.
But instead this was what I got—my karma. My punishment for wanting an abortion was not being allowed the opportunity to say goodbye.
Two
My baby was gone.
I may not have been ready to be a mother, but that didn't lessen the loss for me.
I guess history does repeat itself. I had a child taken against my will, and so had Sophia.
Warm tears blurred my vision. I rolled my lips between my teeth and bit down, fighting the emotion. Sophia took a seat at the edge of the bed. She was on the verge of tears too. My heart felt so damn empty as my world crumbled around me.
Without thinking, I leaned into Sophia's shoulder and rested my head on her. She turned to look at me. I needed someone who wouldn't judge me, but instead help me carry this burden.
She embraced me with open arms, and I closed my eyes. For a split second, it almost felt like this was what she’d wanted, for me to come to her. Her hand ran down my hair in a maternal fashion and I sniffled, bringing her close to me.
"Your dad really wants to see you, Adrianna," she said, her voice soothing. "He's worried."
I hiccupped and pulled away, suddenly feeling weird. "I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Please don't apologize."
"I’m sure he's—"
The door to my hospital room opened and Dad waltzed in. He found me in a seated position and halted, his brown eyes widening. My heart dropped into the knotted mess in my stomach. Considering how we’d left off, I was expecting the worst.
"Adrianna!" he cried out.
My lips parted as he rushed toward me. I wanted to throw my arm around him and tell him I was sorry and that I never meant to upset him. The last thing I wanted was to drive a wedge between us.
Reaching my bedside, Dad put his arms around my body and hugged me like he never had before. An acute shooting pain like a bullet streaking through fire ricocheted through the length of my suspended arm. I gasped in agony, feeling instantly lightheaded from the vicious ache pulsating through my veins.
Dad pulled away and looked down at me as I clutched my arm in the sling. He visibly paled. "Did I hurt you?"
A whimper escaped my cracked lips. I hugged myself to hold in the pain as he cupped his mouth, his eyes filling with regret.
"What happened to my arm?"
My breathing grew dramatically dense, my chest rising and falling at an amplitude that was borderline heart attack inducing. If I couldn't move my arm, how was I going to do gymnastics? Looking into my dad's guilt-ridden eyes, I softly pleaded, "Tell me, please."
I could compete with kidney disease. I could compete while pregnant. I could compete with an Achilles injury. But I couldn't compete with an arm that felt broken.
"Your elbow is dislocated." Shame colored his cheeks. "You're going to have to wear that sling for a while. In a few days you can begin working on little exercise movements to get you back up and running. The doctor said it could take four to six weeks to heal completely."
Four to six weeks? I shrunk back. "I have the biggest competition of my life in ten days. I'll take it easy today and tomorrow, and maybe the day after, but I have to be able to regain movement quicker than that in order to compete."
Dad stared at me like I'd grown two heads. His challenging gaze made me feel defensive. My elbow was dislocated because of him.
"You're going to be in excruciating pain, Adrianna," he said. "It's going to be next to impossible to practice so soon."
"I'm sure it's nothing I haven't experienced already."
"You're going to be on bed rest regardless," he countered.
"Trust me, I can handle it. If I'm brushing up against death’s door with stage four kidney disease, I can handle a dislocated elbow."
Dad’s mouth set into a grim line. "Even so, I can't imagine you're going to be able to practice for a couple weeks, at the very earliest."
My heart sank into my gut. A couple of weeks before I could begin practicing again. No. Not possible. I didn’t have fourteen days to spare. I would take a few days off, then start with a day or two of light stretches. Give myself five days total, then after that, all bets were off the table and I was going full steam ahead.
"Other than your elbow, how are you feeling?" Dad tried to change the subject.