***
At exactly 3:04 a.m., Ryan shot upright in bed as if something had bitten him!
I froze mid-turn, one hand still cradling my belly, the other clutching the pillow wedged under my hip.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I can’t help it. The baby’s kicking, and my back…”
He didn’t let me finish. He just stared at me with a flat, tired look, as if I were a leaky faucet he’d been meaning to fix.
“Then you need to sleep somewhere else!”
Ryan shot upright in bed!
My husband reached across to the kitchen counter, grabbed my car keys, and tossed them onto the comforter between us.
“You’ve got reclining seats.”
I just stared at him. He had to be joking.
“Ryan… I’m eight months pregnant.”
“So?” He rubbed his eyes. “I pay the rent. I need sleep so that I can work. You’re on maternity leave. It won’t kill you to sleep in the car for a few weeks.”
