Chapter 9 - THE STORM BEFORE THE BIRTH
At thirty-three weeks, I developed high blood pressure.
Dr. Mercer warned me to slow down.
I laughed.
She didn't.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"Sabrina."
"Fine."
I stopped working.
Moved temporarily back into Garrison's farmhouse because my new house renovations weren't finished and Rebecca threatened to personally move me if I tried climbing another staircase carrying boxes.
Garrison converted his study into a nursery.
I protested.
"You use this room."
"I've read enough books."
"That's impossible."
"For me, perhaps."
He assembled two cribs.
Badly.
I watched from the couch.
"Former federal deputy director defeated by Swedish furniture."
"Go away."
"This is my entertainment."
Duke slept beneath one crib as if assigned guard duty.
Something had changed between Garrison and me over the months.
Neither of us named it.
Maybe because we were both afraid naming it would make it fragile.
He drove me to appointments.
Cooked when I couldn't stand food smells.
Listened when I woke from dreams about hospitals.
I learned Helen's favorite song.
He learned I hated raisins.
He told me about cases.
I told him about my father.
Some evenings we sat on the porch without talking.
That was enough.
One night, I asked:
"Do you ever think you'll love someone again?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"I already love people."
"You know what I mean."
"Yes."
"And?"
He looked toward me.
"I'm sixty-one."
"So?"
"I'm tired."
"That's not an answer."
He smiled.
"You sound like yourself again."
"What does that mean?"
"When you first came here, you apologized before every question."
I hadn't noticed.
"Now you interrogate retired federal officers."
"Progress."
"Apparently."
Then he said:
"I didn't expect to care about you."
My heartbeat changed.
He continued before I could speak.
"I tried very hard not to."
"Why?"
"Because you had just escaped a marriage."
"Fair."
"Because Helen mattered."
"She still does."
"Yes."
"And because I was helping you."
"Power imbalance."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Rebecca taught you that phrase."
"She uses it every four minutes."
He laughed.
I looked at him.
"I care about you too."
No dramatic kiss followed.
No music.
He simply reached across the porch and took my hand.
It was perfect.
Three days later, disaster returned.
Patricia, awaiting sentencing, had been placed under strict home confinement pending medical evaluation.
She disappeared.
Her ankle monitor was found inside her garage.
Federal authorities immediately notified us.
Garrison's entire demeanor changed.
The gentle neighbor vanished.
The investigator returned.
"Pack a bag."
"Where are we going?"
"Safe location."
"I'm thirty-three weeks pregnant."
"Then we'll choose somewhere with chairs."
Deputies arrived.
Rebecca called.
"This may have nothing to do with you."
"It absolutely has something to do with me."
Unfortunately, I was right.
Patricia called from an unknown number.
"Sabrina."
I went cold.
"Where are you?"
"Your husband destroyed my family."
"Julian did that himself."
"You turned him against me."
I almost laughed.
Even now.
"You built his crimes."
"I built everything he had."
"Exactly."
Silence.
Then:
"Give me the trust."
"No."
"I can still fix this."
"You're going to prison."
Her voice sharpened.
"So is Julian."
"Yes."
"You think you won."
"No."
That answer confused her.
"What?"
"I think it's over."
"It's not over until I say."
Garrison motioned for me to keep her talking.
I almost smiled.
Patricia continued.
"You were nothing when he met you."
"I know."
"He gave you his name."
"I gave it back."
"He gave you a home."
"I paid for most of it."
"He—"
"Patricia."
I was tired.
"You don't get to narrate my life anymore."
She hung up.
Agents traced the call.
Bus station outside Omaha.
She had tried traveling under a false name.
Federal marshals arrested her six hours later.
No chase.
No weapon.
No final confrontation.
Just an angry woman at a bus station discovering money could no longer make doors open.
I was relieved.
Then my water broke.
Of course it did.
At 2:18 a.m., Garrison drove faster than I had ever seen a sixty-one-year-old drive.
"Slow down!"
"You told me to hurry!"
"I changed my mind!"
At the hospital, doctors decided delivery was safer.
Twin A arrived first.
A girl.
Five pounds, two ounces.
I named her Helen Grace Ellis.
When I told Garrison, he cried openly.
I had never seen him do that.
Twin B arrived six minutes later.
A boy.
Five pounds, six ounces.
Thomas Garrison Ellis.
This time Garrison had to sit down.
"You can't do that."
"I already did."
"Thomas and Garrison?"
"My father."
He nodded.
"And you."
He covered his face.
Dr. Mercer laughed.
"Everyone okay?"
I looked at my babies.
Small.
Angry.
Perfect.
"More than okay."
Because they were early, both spent time under observation.
But they were healthy.
Three days later, I held them together for the first time.
Garrison sat beside me.
"I used to think I would never see this."
He looked at Helen.
"So did I."
"Does it hurt?"
"What?"
"Her name."
His eyes filled.
"In a good way."
I leaned my head against his shoulder.
For years, Julian taught me love meant endurance.
That loyalty meant accepting pain.
That family meant proving your worth.
Holding my children beside Garrison, I finally understood something simpler.
May you like
Love did not demand that you disappear.
The right kind made room for you.
