Two nights earlier, he had snapped,
“You’ve been tossing around for an hour.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just can’t get comfortable.”
“Well, figure it out. Some of us have work in the morning.”
I swallowed my answer. My doctor had already warned me that my blood pressure was rising and that lack of sleep could become dangerous. I had not told Ryan. I could already hear his annoyed sigh if I did.
So at 2:55 a.m., I lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling fan, trying not to breathe too loudly. The baby kicked hard again, and I sucked in a breath.
Ryan shifted beside me. I felt the mattress tighten under him.
“Please,” I whispered to myself. “Please just let me sleep.”
At exactly 3:04 a.m., Ryan suddenly sat up like he had been attacked.
I froze, one hand on my belly and the other gripping the pillow beneath my hip.
