By 10 weeks, my body was done, and I was battling with the changes happening inside me. But Briggs still dragged me to meetings and warehouse drop-offs like I was luggage.
“You coming?” he called once, while I struggled to get out of the car. “I can’t have people thinking I don’t have my life together.”
“You think they care what I look like, Briggs?” I asked, breathless. My ankles were swollen, and a deep pain rose up my spine.
By 10 weeks, my body was done…
“They care that I’m a man who handles his business and his home,” he said. “You’re part of the picture, Rae. They’re going to eat it up.”
I followed him inside anyway. My ankles throbbed with every step. And what did Briggs do?
He handed me a box without looking.
“Come on, if you’re going to be here, you need to work.”
I didn’t have the energy to fight.
And what did Briggs do?
That day, we hit four stops in five hours. I’d been running on fumes, but I didn’t say a word.
Not until we got back to the car.
“I need to eat, babe,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “Please. I haven’t eaten all day.”
“You’re always eating,” he muttered. “Isn’t that what you did last night? Cleaned out the pantry? That’s the cycle, isn’t it? I work my butt off to stock up the pantry, and you eat it all away in a night.”
“Please. I haven’t eaten all day.”
“I’m carrying two babies,” I said. “And I haven’t had anything since dinner.”
“You ate a banana,” Briggs said, rolling his eyes. “Stop acting like a drama queen. You’re pregnant. That doesn’t make you special.”
I looked out the window, blinking hard. My hands were shaking.
“Can we just stop somewhere?” I asked again. “I feel dizzy.”
“You’re pregnant. That doesn’t make you special.”
He sighed, like I’d asked for something extravagant. Eventually, he pulled into a roadside diner — the kind with foggy windows, laminated menus, and booths that stuck to your legs in summer.
I didn’t care.
My legs ached, my stomach turned, and I just needed to sit down and stay upright.
I slid into a booth and tried to catch my breath.
I didn’t care.
For a moment, I closed my eyes and pictured what I wanted more than anything: Mia and Maya, asleep in matching onesies, their tiny bellies rising and falling. Their names had started whispering to me lately.
Maybe because they sounded soft… or maybe because they sounded like freedom.
A waitress came over — she was in her forties, maybe, with a tired smile and a bun that was half undone. Her name tag read Dottie.
I closed my eyes and pictured what I wanted more than anything.
Before she could say anything, Briggs grunted.
“Something cheap, Rae.”
I didn’t react to him. I just opened the menu and scanned for protein, finally deciding on a Cobb salad. It was $5. That was it.
Surely, Briggs wouldn’t have an issue with that?
“I’ll have the Cobb salad, please, Dottie,” I said quietly.
Surely, Briggs wouldn’t have an issue with that?
“A salad?” Briggs said, barking a loud laugh. “It must be nice, huh, Rae? Spending money that you didn’t earn.”
